In Umbra
by PhoenixFire Lia
Summary: After brooding for years after his failures at Kyoto, Muraki decides to get his revenge on the one person he blames...Tatsumi. Can the shadow-master be caught in his own darkness? Or will Watari and the others save him? (now complete)
1. Prologue: An Angel of Death

In Umbra

Disclaimer: I do not own _YnM. _Yoko Matsushita does. I don't make any money off of writing fanfics either; I think I'm actually losing money. 

Rating: R for strong language, violence, sensuality, and mental rape. Yes, mental rape. 

Pairings: Tatsumi/Watari, Muraki/Tatsumi (non-con!) and Tsuzuki/Hisoka

Summary: After stewing for years over his failures in Kyoto, Muraki decides to finally enact his vengeance, and on the man he believes undermined all his brilliant work. Tatsumi may be the Master of Shadows, but the darkness he is subjected to is far more dangerous than the shade he wields and he becomes swallowed up in night. That is, of course, unless Watari has anything to say about it. 

Notes: This is going to be one of those odd amalgamations of genre fics. At times it'll actually be funny, but probably not often since we're dealing with Muraki, _the _Scary Rapist Man. And just to make this explicitly clear now so I don't get screamed at by anyone, the Muraki/Tatsumi in the pairings portion overhead? _Non-consensual. _Not even a little. 

++

In Umbra: Latin for "In Shadow" 

++

            Kazutaka Muraki was the kind of man who could bear a grudge for a very long time. After all, it had been decades since his half-brother's death and he still carried in the black expanse some would call a heart all of the bitterness and hatred that he bore towards Saki. He still longed to bring that wretched, despicable being back from the dead just so he could have the perverse pleasure of killing him all over again, slowly, _painfully, _smiling as his blood streamed from his limp and broken corpse in such pretty little patterns on the floor. He almost could have, too. If it hadn't been for those damned Shinigami. 

            No, if it hadn't been for _that _damned Shinigami, one in particular. The Kagetsukai, the master of shadows, the only one who had truly been able to stand up to him. The boy? He was hardly a threat, still traumatized from being wholly raped and under the sway of the curse carved into his pretty pale flesh. And that ridiculous, effeminate, half-man of a scientist with his stupid little owl barely even constituted as a threat. More of a nuisance, an obnoxious little creature in the background, there to be ignored. It had all been the fault of that damned Kagetsukai. If he hadn't interfered, he, Muraki, could have had his beautiful Tsuzuki _and _his precious doll _and _his longed-for vengeance against Saki. But he did interfere and spoil it all. 

            So he'd waited, laid low for seven or eight years, licked his wounds, took some time off to travel the world and learn all sorts of ways to torture a man who'd died at least a century ago, a man whose very whisper beckoned writhing shades of night. He bided his time, all the while watching, waiting, calculating his next moves, waiting for the opportune moment to strike. 

            "I don't want to know what you're up to, Kazutaka, just as long as you keep me out of it. I would rather not have to face another one of those Shinigami again. My soul's already black enough as it is, I'm sure interfering a second time will damn me absolutely," Oriya sighed, exhaling a plume of smoke from his pipe as he and the doctor sat on the porch of the swordsman's brothel one hazy dawn. 

            "Then I suppose asking to borrow your basement is out of the question, then," Muraki replied, a cold smile on his pale lips. 

            "Definitely. Torture whoever you're going to torture somewhere else, I'm not going to be any part of this. And I certainly don't want to have to clean up bloodstains from _your _victims either." 

Muraki shrugged him off, busily organizing his thoughts. "Mm."

            "Whatever you're thinking of doing probably won't work anyways. Those things are undead, you can't kill what's already been killed, you know," Oriya pointed out, waving his pipe for emphasis.  

            "Oh, but Oriya, there are so many ways one can be killed. And all of the ways I'm considering are just so…deliciously agonizing." He licked his lips. 

Oriya shuddered. "Sometimes I don't know why I stick by you, Kazutaka."

            "Misery loves company?"

The dark-haired man frowned. "Just…promise me you won't do anything that's going to get you killed. All right?"

            "Oriya," Muraki said, his tone wry, "merely sitting with you right now still has the potential of my getting killed. Anything and everything a human does, he does with the underlying threat that his death could very well come in the next instant. Well, on that note, I must be off. Don't expect me to return any time soon, these things tend to take quite a while, but if you could keep my room available for me…"

            He trailed off as he rose, stretching, cracking knuckles, and picking up his long white coat. Oriya watched him walk towards the front gate, looking for all the world like an angel in the pale dawn light. 

            "An angel of death…"

++

Notes:I know, what kind of an author calls the fic primarily a Tats/Tari fic and doesn't even put them in the prologue? This is just a little exposition, getting you all worried about what Muraki's going to do so that when it actually happens you fall out of your chair screaming, "Muraki, you bastard, don't you dare touch him!" Just wait, it'll happen. 

            The chapters are going to be pretty short too, just to let you know in advance. When I wrote the fic I wrote the whole thing first and chaptered it later, not sure where the chapters were going to break off so I made it so every page break could potentially be a new chapter. Whatever. Just keep reading the fic.  


	2. Monsters in the Darkness

            Here we are, with another chapter. I neglected to mention in all of that expository note junk at the top of the prologue that Tatsumi and Watari are an established couple, so I'm doing that now. It makes life that much easier when I don't have to worry about hooking them up. So, on with the fic. More notes at the end of the chapter. 

++

Watari loitered about the shared office of Tsuzuki and Hisoka, idly fiddling with his hands. The hour was growing late, and he was more than ready to go home, but he was stuck there. He swore he didn't mind, he was keeping company with his two best friends after all, but he was an impatient young man and eager to hear the news he'd been expecting all day. 

            "Are you sure you're going to be all right, Tsuzuki?" he asked, wandering around the brunette's desk, poking messy piles of papers. 

The other Shinigami smiled. "Yeah, don't worry, it's just paperwork."

            "Paperwork you should've turned in three weeks ago," Hisoka retorted from across the room. "I don't see why I have to help you fill in the forms _you _neglected to complete."

            "Because we're partners, and partners do things like that. Don't you, Watari?" 

Hisoka snorted. "You idiot. Watari does paperwork for both Tatsumi and himself because Tatsumi doesn't have the time to waste filling out the forms. He's usually too busy correcting _yours._"

            "That's right, pretend you don't love me," Tsuzuki grumbled under his breath. 

Watari smiled easily. "Oh, I don't mind doing the work. With laboratory accidents down to a minimum these days, I find I've gained back all of the time spent cleaning up from my little mishaps."

            Tsuzuki set his pen down and stretched, trying to work the kinks out from his stiff shoulders and hands. Writing for hours on end was definitely not how he'd wanted to spend the night, he would've much preferred wining and dining his adorable companion, but the forms needed to be turned in and he favored the wrath of Hisoka over the wrath of Tatsumi any day. 

            "So…what're you still doing here?" he inquired of Watari, who'd moved to inspect the fake fern gathering dust in the corner, 003 perched on his shoulder. 

            "I can't leave until Tatsumi gets out of his meeting. He's got the keys to the apartment with him…I sort of melted my last pair…plus I want to know what happened. It was a pretty important meeting," the cheery blonde explained. 

            The purposeful click of soles on tile heralded the arrival of such a man. Tatsumi's expression was, as usual, severe, his suit a little more rumpled than it had been when he'd arrived that morning, his tie hanging limply from his neck, the knot loosened. From his appearance, things hadn't gone well. Watari smiled at him, ambling out of the office and latching his arm around the secretary. 

            "There's my ride. See you tomorrow, kids!" he cheered, waving as the two men and the owl walked off. 

Hisoka frowned. "He didn't look happy."

            "Tatsumi? I know. I overheard the Gushoshin talking the other morning. Apparently he was up for a big promotion, commissioner of investigations or something fancy like that."

            "You mean Konoe's position?"

He shook his head. "Higher than that, even. Chief even wrote him a sparkling recommendation and everything. Pay was better, but the hours were miserable. Tatsumi puts in enough time here, I can only imagine how little sleep he'd be getting in that job…plus he'd be working directly for Enma…Watari would most likely never see him again."

            "So he'd be miserable whether he got the promotion or not," Hisoka deduced. 

            "Exactly. We'll just have to wait for Watari to give us all of the grimy details tomorrow morning, I guess. I just hope Tatsumi isn't that mad that he's going to take this out on Watari. You know? Sometimes the littlest things set that man off."

            "Like someone else we know…"

Tsuzuki glared at him, though it was a half-hearted glare. "I hope you're talking about yourself."

            "Of course not. Now get back to that paperwork, Tsuzuki, I don't want to sleep here tonight. Even our couch in infinitely more comfortable than this chair."

His violet-eyed partner smiled at the phrase 'our couch.' It seemed as though partners across the districts had been, of late, become partners in the relationship sense of the word. Or, at the very least, found lovers from some of the other divisions of Juo-cho. It was cute, but in a way the most horrible thing imaginable. The potential of a Shinigami becoming either seriously and irreparably wounded, ensorcelled by their own misfired magic or the attack of an enemy, or even killed was always high. The threat of losing one's partner was omnipresent. It was the concept of losing one's lover that was so terrible. They were immortal, but only in a twisted sense of the word. Immortal as long as you weren't killed in a firefight with a demon. Immortal as long as you didn't go insane from living after death for so long. A Shinigami dies, and they die. There is no in-between for the immortal, one must ascend or descend. And who could bear to live potentially forever if a lover was killed?

++

            They walked through the park on the way back to their shared apartment, Watari's arm still twined about Tatsumi's. The sky overhead was dusky, and the streetlamps were just starting to flicker on. Fireflies, the last of the season, flickered dimly in the bushes, aware of the onset of winter. The air had turned cool, but it was nowhere near as cold as Tatsumi's expression. Watari clutched his arm tighter, hoping for the best, expecting the worst. 

            "So how did the meeting go?" he asked, trying to school his voice into nonchalance. "Will we be moving your paperweights into a corner office and buying you a bigger fern? Do I get to pick out the curtains and the furniture? Can I at least buy you colored staples?"

            "I didn't get the promotion," Tatsumi murmured, his eyes on the ground in front of him. 

Watari sank his head against his lover's shoulder. "Oh Tatsumi, I'm so sorry."

            "They said I was more use as the division's secretary and accountant. After all, I've been doing it for nearly a century, why change now? Especially not after I just pulled us out of the red," he said bitterly, clenching his fists almost tightly enough to draw blood. 

            "You deserved that promotion more than anyone," Watari said reassuringly. "But I'm all right with you staying just where you are. Besides, if you became commissioner, I would've had to get another partner, and breaking in a rookie is such hard work."

            "Watari…I know you're trying to help, but will you just leave me alone for a little while?"

The amber-eyed young man blinked. "Beg pardon?"

His companion handed off his keys, his tone severe as he commanded the younger man. "Take these and go home. I'll be there later, I need some time to think things over by myself."

            "What about supper? You haven't eaten all day, you've got to be starving."

            "I'm not hungry. Just go home," Tatsumi snapped.  

Watari started walking off, but stopped, about-faced, and marched right back to face Tatsumi. His expression was rueful, and even 003 seemed repentant for something. 

            "I'm sorry. I'm sorry the meeting went poorly, I'm sorry you didn't get the promotion, I'm sorry they didn't even give you a pay raise since you obviously work harder than anyone I know, but mostly…I'm sorry that you're taking this all out on me. I still love you, Seiichiro Tatsumi, always will. 003 and I will see you at home. We'll leave the door unlocked. Don't stay out too late though, Enma only knows what kind of whackos are roaming around these days."

            He kissed Tatsumi's cheek gently, smiling sadly as he walked away, seeming to shimmer under the streetlights. Tatsumi was certain Watari's shoulders were shaking in quiet sobs, and though he felt wretched for making the blonde cry, he did not pursue. There were things he needed to seriously think about, and though Watari did deserve an apology, it would have to wait until he got home. 

            The young scientist, had, of course, been right. Were Tatsumi to have gotten his promotion, it would have meant the end of their partnership. Watari would be paired with some fresh-faced rookie completely unaware of the intricacies of being a Shinigami, and he himself would be shackled to a desk, going out into the field long enough to collect the necessary information for a case, shove it in a file folder, get Enma to approve it, and send it down to one of the divisions. No thrill of the chase, no berating Tsuzuki for overtaxing the food budget, and most likely no seeing Watari anymore. His hours would have been much longer than anything in Enma-cho, getting up long before his lover woke and coming home far later into the night. Of course he'd _deserved _the job, but he knew he wouldn't have been happy in the position. Still, he felt robbed. Tatsumi felt that he should have been given some sort of recognition for his work. It seemed as though pen ink was forever embedded in his skin, his hands dyed varying shades of black, blue and red from the countless reams of forms, papercuts crisscrossing knuckles. It was almost humorous how abused his hands were from mere secretarial work. 

            The streetlamp overhead guttered, the fluorescent bulb giving its death shudder as the last of its luminosity petered out, leaving Tatsumi's patch of walkway in a ring of darkness. The blue-eyed man shuddered in response to the light extinguishing, remembering his grandfather's voice as it bubbled up from some long-forgotten past. 

            "There are monsters in the darkness, Seiichiro, monsters that only come out when the lights are all gone…the kind that eat repulsive, disobedient, dishonorable little boys like you," he'd told him, digging his fingernails into his tender young flesh. He'd been three years old, and had never once forgotten his words. 

            "Monsters in the darkness," he murmured, questioning whether he himself, a summoner of shadows, was such a monster. For the cold way he'd responded to Watari, he certainly felt like one at the time. 

            A sharp stab of pain lanced the back of his neck, as though someone had jabbed a steel spike straight through his spine. Tatsumi let out a choked cry, his eyes wide from the pain. His knees buckled, muscles locking up, his whole body lurching forward. The man hit the pavement with the dull thud of flesh and fabric connecting with concrete, his glasses flying off, the frame snapping, the lenses crunching. He lay there, motionless, azure eyes wide and unblinking, not quite conscious, but not quite sentient either. The streetlight overhead flickered back on feebly as someone stepped out of the shadows, chuckling quietly as he toed the limp form. 

            "Indeed, Mr. Tatsumi, monsters in the darkness."

++

            Notes: Yup, big honking cliffhanger ending. I hate cliffhangers, but I'm evil enough to put them in my own damn fanfics. Now, you might be wondering if Tatsumi's grandfather (mentioned just a few short paragraphs ago) has anything to do with anything. My answer? Wait and see, suckers, wait and see. 

On that note, I'll see you next chapter!


	3. Wait and See

            Another chapter, and this time we're starting it with a little interaction between Tsuzuki, Hisoka, and Konoe. It's a hangup I have as an author if I don't give everyone their due moment in the spotlight, even if the fic completely isn't about them. Sometimes I go out of my way to include a character, just to get their name in. Oh well, read the chapter, I'll see you at the bottom. 

++

Tsuzuki staggered into the break room for his midmorning cup of coffee. No amount of caffeine seemed to shake the doldrums of case research; having sifted through yet another thick and musty tome, graciously provided from the never-ending supply the Gushoshin twins stood guard over, for a good part of the day. He would've much rather have gone out and done the usual footwork, but that had been yesterday, and today he was stuck in the office doing research on various forms of poltergeists. Why he couldn't just sit in the haunted house and observe said spirit was beyond him. 

            Konoe was berating Hisoka just inside the door, the young blonde half-listening, stirring his coffee with a crooked stirrer, the brown plastic deformed from some unfortunate mishap, no doubt involving Watari. It was somewhat apparent that the teenager was not the subject of the older man's tirade, as it would have resulted in his cringing and shrinking in humble apology, but merely the unfortunate soul whom the chief happened to accost first. 

            "Tsuzuki!" Konoe barked as the brunette tried to skirt around them and make it to the coffee machines undetected. He stood ramrod straight, saluting the chief stiffly. 

            "Sir!" 

The beleaguered boss sighed at this. "Cut that out. I need you to call Tatsumi and Watari's apartment."

            "How come?" he inquired casually, fixing his coffee and moving to peruse the breakfast fare on the dilapidated card table next to the counter designated for coffee. Granola bars and fruit. Obviously Wakaba and Terazuma were still on their latest assignment. 

            "Neither of them have shown up for work yet," Hisoka replied, staring down at the cup in his hand, watching steam rise from the coffee. 

Tsuzuki frowned, hiking up his sleeve to glance at his watch. "It's almost lunchtime."

            "Idiot, it's ten past ten," his partner corrected, annoyed at Tsuzuki's food-oriented timetable. The older man stared at his watch, shaking his wrist a few times, before his violet eyes went wide with mild surprise. 

            "Oh jeez, my watch battery died. Didn't even notice that. Okay, so it's ten past ten. And they didn't call or anything, say they were not coming in, coming in late, what have you?" 

Konoe shook his head. "I'd be more likely to expect this from Watari, but Tatsumi? It's unacceptable, and very unlike him as well."

            Watari shuffled into the room at this given moment, looking like death warmed over. His hair was limp and dull, eyes ringed with dark circles, clothes rumpled and suspiciously the same ensemble he'd worn the day before. He staggered over to the main table, leaning against it with his hip, seeming dazed. Konoe grabbed his collar and started shaking the young man back and forth. 

            "Where the hell have you been? Where's Tatsumi? And the answer had better be 'in his office' or else you'll…"

Watari let out a strangled sob, shoving the chief's meaty hands away. "I don't know."

            "What do you mean you don't know?" 

The scientist cast his dulled amber eyes to the floor, his strawberry blonde hair curtaining his face. "I don't know. Tatsumi didn't come home last night. I don't know where he is."

            Tsuzuki cursed softly, pulling out a plastic chair and pointing to it. "Sit down. Hisoka, mind fixing Watari a cup of coffee? And give him a granola bar or a banana or something. Chief, you can get back to whatever you were doing, we'll handle things."

            Generally Konoe would've hung about for such an interrogation, but Tsuzuki's amethyst eyes had lost their lighthearted air, a colder emotion settling behind them, the look of a man who should never be questioned, lest he blow your head off in one of twelve different ways. Tatsumi and Watari were his two best and closest friends, and a grave matter of this proportion was enough to switch Tsuzuki to his more serious and infinitely more frightening of personas. The chief quietly excused himself as Hisoka handed off a cup of coffee dosed with cream and sugar to Watari's tastes, heavy on everything but the coffee, and some sort of cardboard flavored prepackaged breakfast-on-the-go bar. 

            "You said Tatsumi didn't come home last night…how is that possible? We saw you two leave together yesterday," Hisoka observed, clutching his arms in a physical expression of the shields he'd clamped down on his empathy to avoid feeling the spill of Watari's emotions. 

            "We did…but about halfway home he gave me his keys and told me to go on without him. I made the mistake of asking about his promotion, he seemed so upset and I knew I shouldn't have said anything, but I wanted to let him know it was all right that he didn't get it and I told him so…but then he said he needed time to think. That he wanted me to go home and leave him alone to think," Watari explained, his calm voice pregnant with the anguished worry he truly felt. 

            "So you just left him?" Tsuzuki questioned. 

Watari shook his head vehemently. "Not right away. I wanted him to come home, I was worried about him, he hadn't eaten at all yesterday, and it really isn't like Tatsumi not to tell me about his concerns. But he pushed me away, and gave me that 'this is not up for discussion' look. So I told him I'd meet him at home."

            "And he never came," Hisoka concluded, taking a sip of coffee. While Tsuzuki was hovering around Watari in a similar fashion to the absent 003, who was probably holding down whichever fort her commanding officer had ordered her encampment at; he was leaning against the wall opposite the two men, scowling as usual. 

            "No. I waited up all night, just in case he did. I called him a few times, tried calling his extension here, no answer, not even once. I'd hoped he'd be here," Watari's voice broke as his shoulders hitched with a sob. "I'm not even angry at him. I'm just…so _worried. _Tatsumi wouldn't do something like this, you both know it. He didn't even apologize for snapping at me on the walk home, and he's never failed to do so. Tatsumi refuses to leave his conflicts unresolved and unapologized for, even if I'm the one at fault."

            Tsuzuki and Hisoka exchanged glances from across the room. This sounded both very familiar and very disconcerting. It seemed as though they would be shaking down certain sword-wielding brothel owners for information in the near future.

            "Wherever he is," Watari said slowly, his eyes rimmed with tears, "I'm almost dead certain Tatsumi did not go there of his own free will."

            "We'll have the Gushoshin transfer our current case to one of the other pairs and set out on search right away, don't you worry, Watari. Hisoka and I will have him back here waving his pointer stick faster than you can say, 'the damages from your blowing up the lab will be deducted from your paycheck and no, you cannot have more budget money.' So smile a little, okay?" Tsuzuki suggested, trying to lighten the somberness that hung in the room. 

            "I'm sorry, Tsuzuki, I know you want to help, but I think this is something I'm going to have to deal with myself. I promise that if I need you, I won't hesitate to ask, but Tatsumi is my partner and my responsibility. I want to do this on my own."

            Tsuzuki stood agape, about ready to vehemently protest, but Hisoka calmly shook his head. It was not up for any sort of discussion, whether he was in favor of letting Watari fly solo or not, which he most definitely was not. The whole thing stank of Muraki's taint, Tsuzuki knew it without hesitation or doubt, and though he trusted his friend, questioned whether Watari could hold his own against a man both he himself, Hisoka, and Tatsumi all struggled against. Despite the knowledge that Watari _was _proficiently trained in Shinigami summoning magic, he'd hardly ever seen the amber-eyed scientist wield anything other than his powers of bringing life to the inanimate, and that was usually in jest. 

            "Don't give me that look, Tsuzuki, the kicked puppy face isn't going to work on me today. I can't always depend on you and Bon to bail me out every time something bad happens. I need to stand on my own two feet and rely on my own abilities. Besides, Tatsumi would kick my ass if he found out I couldn't handle rescuing him by myself," Watari remarked, trying to smile. 

            "I think you're being an idiot," Hisoka stated bluntly, "but you're right. Let me know if you need any help, though I doubt I'll be any considering I can't read Tatsumi's emotions."

Watari now genuinely smiled, though his eyes still shimmered with the faint trace of tears. 

            "Thanks, Bon. But I'll be all right. These things generally work out all right in the end, one way or another."

He walked off, his step determined, far removed from his usual flighty, springy step that was generally accompanied by cheery whistling. Hisoka crossed the room and touched Tsuzuki's arm, not even looking at the older man, trying to be as much a comfort as he would allow himself to be. 

            "Do you really think he'll be all right?"

Hisoka shrugged. "We'll just have to wait and see."

++

            Notes: Watari taking charge, novel concept, isn't it? But if we follow Watari's logic, it makes perfect sense. He'll explain it more in depth at a later chapter, his real reasoning behind why he doesn't want the others going out after Muraki. *grimace* I feel really bad for doing this to him and Tatsumi…


	4. Blackness Swallowed Him Whole

            Another chapter, although you readers might really hate me for this one. It's the start of the Tatsumi torture, and I've got to say, I was pretty damn brutal to the poor man. I'll make it up to him eventually, maybe write a nice fluffy hearts-and-flowers fic. But for now, it's gore central. See you at the end of the chapter, folks. 

++

Smell was the first thing Tatsumi regained, and it was immediately unwelcome. He could smell the cloying stench of fresh blood, his blood, as it stuck to everything, a thick odor that made him gag. Behind that was the older smell of must and decay, the fetid reek of death and rotting corpses, the rank stench of a mausoleum. He opened his eyes, surroundings blurry without his glasses, though it hardly mattered. Wherever he was being held prisoner was shrouded almost totally in darkness, and what bare bits of light there were, it was not enough to call upon shadows. Tatsumi tried moving, his ears assailed with a thin squealing sound, like fingers strumming across piano wires, and the squelch of these wires hitting flesh and muscle. Sticky wetness seeped into his clothes, the thin fabric of his shirt, the smell of blood growing stronger. He coughed, blood and spittle flecking his paled lips, the effort of breathing only slicing the flesh of his neck more. A binding charm, no doubt made from the hair of murdered women, he knew of few people who used such an item. 

            A tiny glowing light like a firefly blinked into view, and Tatsumi realized it was the smoldering end of a cigarette held between thin, colorless lips as the familiar face of his captor reeled into view. Even mostly blind, Tatsumi could recognize that face anywhere. 

            "Muraki," he breathed, unable to speak louder than a choked whisper. 

The mad doctor smiled, plucking away his cigarette. "It _has_ been some time, hasn't it, Mr. Tatsumi? And yet still that same contemptuous sneer. Not very becoming of you at all."

            "Let me go," the secretary hissed. "Cut me loose."

            "Why? So you can rend me limb from limb with your obedient shadows? I think not. You see, Mr. Tatsumi, if it hadn't been for your interference, I would've had everything I wanted. Because of you, I lost everything that was mine."

            "Tsuzuki and Hisoka were never yours."

The pale doctor's lips curled up in a hideous scowl as his palm cracked across Tatsumi's cheek. 

            "Shut your mouth! You are in no position to speak to me like that. I have spent these long years thinking of you, Mr. Tatsumi. Thinking of ways I could make you suffer in the way I have suffered. And believe me when I say you will suffer. When I am through, you will be begging me for death," Muraki remarked, his voice low and threatening. 

            "I wouldn't give you the satisfaction," Tatsumi retorted, spitting a mouthful of blood at his captor. Muraki wiped his cheek, an odd smile on his face. A cruel kind of smirk. 

            He leaned close to the Kagetsukai, that horrid leer of his still tugging at his lips as he crushed his mouth against the brunette's, forcing his tongue into the captive man's mouth, tasting his blood, his life. He slammed his body against the bound and gashed one, hands buried in russet hair, his tongue plundering the warm heat, raping his prisoner with a single kiss. That hideous smile stayed on Muraki's lips as he pulled away, moving to whisper in Tatsumi's ear. 

            "Your broken and bloody body will be mounted on a pike for all of Meifu to see, I will slaughter those you love most and drink their blood…but I will keep your blonde whore alive, just so that you will not have the pleasure of spending your afterlife with him," he murmured, licking his lips. "I can almost hear his tortured screams as I drag him to the ground and fuck him."

            Tatsumi's fingers twitched, the most movement he could make under his restraints. "I'll kill you, you bastard, if you so much as look at him. You stay away from Watari."

Muraki's chuckle cut through him more than the binding charm's threads. 

            "Still making threats in the face of death, how noble of you, Mr. Tatsumi. Perhaps I won't kill you right away, perhaps we shall prolong this. I was considering putting you under my influence, inviting your little bitch here so he could watch as you screamed out _my _name in ecstasy, let _him _kill you for me. But that would be such a waste, after all, I used all of this time to find a suitable way to destroy you with my own hands."

            The doctor vanished from sight for a moment, the glowing embers of his cigarette the only thing visible in the dark. He returned moments later, holding a stiletto in one hand and a small jar in the other. With the blade he cut lose the binding spell, dropping Tatsumi to a dusty and cold stone floor slimy with his blood. 

            "This will be more enjoyable if you have room to writhe," he stated. "And, just so you are aware, I've disabled your healing abilities. So, even if you survive this, I can still bleed the life out of you."

            "Muraki…" Tatsumi gasped, reaching out a hand to grasp the man, pull him down to the floor. A fine leather sole stomped down on the fine-boned hand, the silver-haired man crushing it under his heel. Tatsumi bit back cries of pain, clutching his mangled hand, his writing hand. He wouldn't scream, he wouldn't give Muraki the pleasure. 

            "I found this in the Andes, the ancient South American peoples used this in rituals for human sacrifices. Their language had no words to describe it; I like to think of it as a shadow-eater. It will quite literally consume you from the inside out."

            He uncorked the bottle, tossing the stopper somewhere in the dark, the cork skittering across the floor. One thin-fingered hand forced Tatsumi's mouth open, the other tipping the bottle down the man's throat. Tatsumi coughed and gagged, forced to swallow a dark, viscous fluid that tasted absolutely rancid and burnt his throat going down. His body quivered with a spasm, the bitter liquid seeping into his veins. 

            "Enjoy your sanity while it lasts, Mr. Tatsumi," Muraki said with a cold sneer, disappearing into the darkness once again. Tatsumi gasped and dry-heaved, his battered body convulsing on the filthy ground. Only his mind still remained intact, unpolluted by the drug.

            "I can't die," he thought, trying to raise himself from the ground. "Too many people depend on me."

The faces of his coworkers, his friends, flashed before his eyes. There was Hisoka, the barest of smiles on his young face. Tsuzuki, grinning like a fool, a cupcake in his outstretched hands. And Watari, leaning on one hand, smudges of soot on his cheeks and nose, his eyes bright with love. 

            "Watari…" he whispered, reaching for that intangible vision. "Help me…"

Tatsumi fell forward, consumed in darkness, the name of his lover tumbling from his lips as blackness swallowed him whole. 

++

            Notes: I don't have anything to say, I'm still horrified that I brutalized Tatsumi, and this is only the start of the hurty chapters. I'm going off into a corner now to cringe at my own evilness. 


	5. Claustrophobic

            Welcome back. After the Watari bits, we go back to Tatsumi, and the next couple of chapters are going to deal with his past. I want to thank Theria.net for some of the information and Mainframe from gentlemen_prefer_blondes for more insight. I made up some names, though, so if anybody happens to know anything, go ahead and correct me now before I end up calling somebody by the wrong name for the rest of the fic. See you at the end. 

++

003 bit back an owlish sigh as she stood on the counter, watching her master hold back his own hair as he vomited into the laboratory sink. Watari had made himself physically sick worrying over Tatsumi, his face devoid of all color, eyes lacking their usual sparkle. The young man rinsed out his mouth and splashed cold water on his face, wiping it on the hem of his labcoat. He turned to 003 and forced himself to smile, to try and reassure her that he was all right. She knew he was lying to her. 

            The double doors parted hesitantly and Wakaba stepped in, looking more timid than usual. Generally she would skip in smiling, ready to gossip with her scientist friend, but today she walked with a more somber air. Watari noticed her, putting on another false smile. 

            "Wakaba! Welcome back. How did your mission go?" he chatted amicably. 

She bit her lip. "It was all right…Watari, Hajime and I…well, we know what happened…about Mr. Tatsumi. And if there's anything I could do, please, go right ahead and ask, I'll do anything you want."

            "Actually, Wakaba, there was one thing," Watari replied, his tone darkening. "I need you to send a dispatch to GenSouKai, tell everyone there what's happened, down to the last Shikigami."

The girl looked puzzled, her dual-colored eyes inquisitive. "Why?"

            "Because…" the blonde man took a deep, steadying breath. "Because Muraki is behind this, I know he is. And if I can't save Tatsumi, if I can't slow Muraki down even a little bit, he'll come here and kill every last one of you. The Shikigami need to be prepared to go into battle in case I fail."

            "Watari, are you really going to fight Muraki alone?"

            "I have to. Tsuzuki thinks I'm crazy for wanting to but…Wakaba, he doesn't know. He doesn't know what I'm going through. It doesn't even compare in the smallest bit to what happened to Bon. I can taste Tatsumi's blood in my mouth; hear him crying out in pain. He's alone, and he's frightened and I can't bear to think that that bastard Muraki has his filthy hands on him. Muraki's ruined enough lives already, he won't have mine, and damned if I let him have Tatsumi's either."

            The young girl smiled, reaching up on tiptoe to kiss the scientist's cheek. "You're a good man, Watari. Mr. Tatsumi is lucky to be loved by somebody as sweet as you. I'll have all of GenSouKai put on alert within the hour, and Hajime and I will be standing by if you need us too."

            "Thanks, Wakaba. That means a lot to me."

She nodded, rubbing 003's feathers as she headed towards the door again. "We're a family. We all have to watch out for one another."

            Watari sighed, removing his glasses so he could bury his face in his hands. He knew very well he stood no chance against Muraki, his ability to bring life to the lifeless seemingly paltry compared to the terrible and dark magic the wicked doctor possessed. But the more Watari thought about it, the more it seemed that his somewhat useless talent might be the thing he needed to give him the upper hand in the ensuing fight. He just prayed that his speculations were correct, and that he would not be proved wrong in the eleventh hour. Not when Tatsumi's very existence was at stake. 

            "Hold on, Tatsumi. It'll all be over soon, I promise, love. I'll be there soon, just hold on."

++

            Tatsumi was home, his real home, his mother's family's estate, as cold and pristine as it had been when he'd lived. It wasn't until he'd seen the tiny boy in his cornflower blue yukata that he realized that he was reliving a memory, one of his own, only this time as an outsider, a spectator. The little boy was himself, a tiny Seiichiro probably only a year old, tottering as he stood on unsteady and pigeon-toed feet. He watched the infant struggling to walk, the littler Seiichiro stumbling, falling face-first onto the impeccably clean wood floors. The boy's brilliant blue eyes welled up with tears and he began to bawl, more startled than injured. 

            He remembered it as the day his mother and father had brought him from their home in the country to be introduced to his mother's family. It would have been an insignificant memory to Tatsumi had he not seen his family members walking right past the baby sprawled on the floor, completely ignoring his cries. Aunts, uncles, cousins, all heedless of Seiichiro, his little face red and scrunched up, nose running as he howled. They all stared at him, hurrying into corners and doorways to whisper to one another, cruel eyes fixed on the child. Tatsumi could hear every word they uttered. 

            "It's a shame, really. A good strong family like the Shikano clan, begetting such a terrible little creature as that one, an absolute abomination."

            "Blue eyes. What a terrible disgrace."

            "It was bad enough that Mayune eloped with a dirty, low-caste common husband, but she's come back to see her family with no money, practically living in a hut and eating squirrels to survive…and that disgusting little child! She should have left him on a mountainside to freeze to death or be eaten by wild boars."

            "That boy will never bring honor to his family. They should hope he falls ill and dies, or is run down by a cart. Then they can try again, have a more respectable child."

Tatsumi was sickened. His own family, wishing for his death, an infant who'd done no wrong but breathe. And as horrible as it was to recall, he knew that Muraki had not tampered with his memories, trying to poison them. These were true. He'd been a child unwanted, all for his blue eyes, the taint of European blood, his father's common blood mingled with the blood of nobility. 

            "I am no abomination," Tatsumi stated firmly, watching as his younger self picked himself off the floor and started toddling across the room, standing near to where Tatsumi stood as well. "You're all wrong." He glared at the chorus of relations, who regarded one of their own as worthless, and for a moment, it seemed as though they saw him, the same little Seiichiro they had cast out. Only now they were looking at the man he'd become, strong, intelligent, and handsome. Twenty-nine years old and capable of standing on his own two feet. But as quickly as they'd come the glimpses of admiration had passed, the disparaging looks replacing them. The crowd then suddenly parted as Mayune Tatsumi, his beautiful mother, swept across the floor and knelt to embrace her infant son.

            "Pay them no heed, little Seii," she murmured in his ear. "My beautiful baby boy. Mama will always love you, my son, my precious treasure."         

            Tatsumi felt his heart shatter and his soul groan in agony. Blood swam before his eyes, pools of it, staining his hands, his clothes. His own screams reverberated in his ears, cries for the mother he'd loved and sworn to protect. No, he couldn't remember that day. He'd spent all of his life and his afterlife trying to forget it, if there was a merciful god he wouldn't have to relive that horrible day. Gingerly, his hand crushed even in the scope of his mind, he wrapped his arms about himself, feeling his dark memories long since repressed crowding around him, and he was claustrophobic. 

++

            Notes: I'm trying for accuracy for Tatsumi's past, but bear in mind, there isn't much known about it, so I'm still just making a guess about it. My interpretation might clash with another author's, but still, they're interpretations. Unless Yoko Matsushita comes out and says "this is exactly what happened to Tatsumi as a kid" we know pretty much nothing. Poor Tatsumi…


	6. Waiting to Wake Up

More of Tatsumi's past plus an angry, frustrated Watari coming your way. Stay tuned. 

++

Tsuzuki checked in on Watari, finding the young blonde at his computer, alternating between the glowing screen and five or six books littered about the table housing the monitor and keyboard. 003 was fluttering around, staying out of the way, offering little comments every once and again that Watari acknowledged with an inarticulate reply. Tsuzuki shook his head. 

"What are you doing?"

Watari spun around in his chair. "Rescuing Tatsumi."

"…And how does this constitute to rescuing him, might I ask?"

Tired and bloodshot amber eyes fixed on him. "Tsuzuki, what is the first thing you would do if Bon got kidnapped right now?"

"Go shake down Oriya Mibu for information."

"And that's your first mistake," Watari replied. "After what happened last time, I doubt Oriya would be so inclined as to helping Muraki out, you see. I'm sure he would much prefer keeping his hands clean of any mess the doctor could potentially make. So there is no reason why I need to reinforce this by going and roughing up the man, who most likely wants to be left the hell alone."

"So what about all of this?" Tsuzuki inquired. 

"Research. Ways I can use my limited abilities to my advantage. So far, I haven't come up with much to support my hypothesis, but what I have found might be sufficient enough. I just don't want to chance anything."

Tsuzuki grimaced. "But shouldn't you be out there? Tatsumi could be…"

"I know!" Watari shouted, effectively cutting him off, slamming his fist down on the table. "I know everything Muraki could be doing, I know everything he _is _doing, all of the pain Tatsumi is suffering I can feel it too!"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean…" Tsuzuki replied quickly, backing off. 

Watari's expression softened. "I know, I know, Tsuzuki."

"I don't want him to die," the violet-eyed man choked out. 

"I don't either, which is why I'm trying to figure out a way to stop Muraki and bring Tatsumi home safely. He's going to pay for hurting him, mark my words. Kazutaka Muraki will rue the day he ever looked upon my face."

++

Time passed for Tatsumi, the seasons changing in his mind, snow and rain and heat alike, and he found himself standing on the porch of his family's home one summer evening. His mother sat on that same porch, barely a foot away, nursing his infant sister, Kana. Presumably, his father was working to eke out a living to support his small family. Little Seiichiro, now about four years old, was jumping around the backyard, his feet bare and dirty. Giggling, the small brunette boy was chasing fireflies, trying to carefully catch one in his outstretched hands. 

"Mama!" he shouted triumphantly, running over to the porch with his tiny fingers cupped around something. "Mama, I caught one!"

"Let me see," she requested.

Little Seiichiro uncurled his hands just wide enough to show his mother the glowing firefly inside. 

"See, Mama? It's magic!" 

The dark-haired woman leaned over, her hands curling around her son's. He looked up at her, grinning widely, his innocent blue eyes full of wonder and youthful amazement. Her face was full of sorrow, masked by her tender affection for her boy. 

"Seii, if there was magic in this world, you'd have a better life than what I've given you." 

"Mama, are you sad?" Seii asked, trying to devise a way to hug his mother without letting go of his firefly or crushing it to death. 

"A little."

"I'm not making you sad, am I, Mama? I don't wanna make you sad, Mama."

She smiled, ruffling his hair. "You're a sweet little boy, my Seii. I hope the girl you marry realizes how lucky she'll be to have you. Now let that poor firefly go home to his family."

"Yes, Mama."

He watched the firefly lazily dance out into the night, blinking with its phosphorescent glow. Tatsumi watched the fireflies skittering about the yard, watched his smaller self still leaping from stone to stone in the small rock garden, leaving little footprints in the carefully raked sand where he'd misstepped. His mother sighed, still fanning her pale face. 

"Every day you grow to look more like your father, Seiichiro," she said to herself, "and every day it breaks my heart a little more."

Tatsumi sat down beside his mother and rested his hand on her shoulder. He could not feel it, the soft, fluid feel of silk beneath his fingers or her perfumed flesh. He could not feel anything but the wood beneath his feet, and even that felt cold and unforgiving, like everything else around him. 

"Don't be sad, Mama," Seii called out, balanced on a rock. "I'll keep you safe forever. Promise!"

Tatsumi gasped, his chest constricting. His mother turned, staring right at him, her eyes wide and unblinking, her pale face gone gray with the pallor of death. He could smell the horrific stench of blood and decay, a pool of vivid red spreading across the clean silk of her carefully embroidered kimono. It was the same, the same as before, the same nightmare he'd woken from screaming so many nights. Only there was no one here to hold him close, banish the deep dark shadows that he couldn't control. His head buried in his hands, he could do nothing but scream in terror and pain, waiting to wake up.

++

Notes: Holy Hakushaku, Batman, that sounds like foreshadowing to me. Will Tatsumi be all right? Will Watari rescue him in time? Is Tsuzuki going to intervene and go after the mad doctor? Who knows?! Well, I do, but…


	7. A Cold and Callow Touch

Whoo, this is a slightly longer-ish chapter, mostly because if I broke it off with Watari, it'd only be a paragraph long and that would really make you want to kill me…as if you already don't or won't soon for abusing Tatsumi. This isn't a happy chappie for Tatsumi. See you downwards.

++

Watari shuddered, the echo of Tatsumi's terrified shrieks ringing in his ears. It was the same strangled cry he heard late at night when he was woken from a sound sleep. The blonde could envision it with ease, his rolling over and flicking on the bedside lamp, fumbling for his glasses, still bleary-eyed and hardly lucent. Tatsumi would be sitting up, his face ashen, his naked body cold with sweat and gooseflesh, hands clutching the sheets in white-knuckled fists. And Watari would hold him, press his shaking body to his own, lock him in a warm embrace and whisper affectionate words until the panicked look faded from his broken blue eyes. 

"Oh Tatsumi, what is he doing to you?" he murmured, setting aside another book.

Hisoka wandered into the laboratory with a cup of some steaming drink cradled in his hands. 

"Here, I figured you could use some," he offered, holding out the chipped mug. Watari accepted it and took a tentative sip. Green tea with barely a spoonful of sugar, the preferred drink of frustrated scientists everywhere. He smiled in gratitude at the teenager, who nodded in acknowledgment to Watari's thanks. 

"Do you think he's all right?" the teenager queried.

"No, but if I try not to think about it, I can fool myself for a little longer," Watari replied. "I've been concentrating my thoughts on all of the ways I'm going to pound Muraki into the dirt instead. I won't kill him, though, promise; that pleasure goes to you and Tsuzuki. Maybe just knock out a few teeth or something."

"I've gotten a few outside flashes of emotion, I think they're from him. He feels…lost."

Watari nodded solemnly, his blonde head bobbing. "This is speculation on my part, but I think Tatsumi is being forced to pull all of the skeletons out of his closet after finally stuffing them all in and getting the door shut. He hasn't dealt with these memories in nearly a century because they hurt so much, and it's shredding his psyche."

"How can you be so calm about this, Watari?"

"I'm in a state of shock, Bon. As soon as I've sufficiently kicked Muraki's ass and run off with Tatsumi in my arms, I'll break down and start sobbing hysterically," he said matter-of-factly. 

Hisoka sighed. "Watari…don't get me wrong or anything, I'm not trying to be pessimistic…what if Tatsumi dies?"

"And I survive? I don't know. The obvious answer is that I kill myself and meet up with him in the afterlife, but that would leave Tsuzuki with two dead best friends. I couldn't do that to him or you."

"And that's why you don't want us helping, either, correct? To preserve our sanity?"

"I'm the only one Muraki hasn't officially tainted yet. Sending you two out to battle him isn't exactly the soundest of game plans. He'd stick those skinny fingers of his into all of the scars you've spent the last seven years closing up and rip them right open again. I'd rather have my arms blown off than have to face post-Kyoto Tsuzuki again. Or see you loitering around the infirmary worrying more about him than the eyeball hanging out your own eye socket. I owe you guys that much at least."

"Watari…" Hisoka sighed again. "I'll never forgive you if you don't come back alive."

He smiled. "I'll even bring you back a souvenir, Bon. Do you want Muraki's left ear, or his right?"

The boy shrugged and walked out, trying to disguise how twisted he felt inside. One of his closest companions was walking towards suicide, and he could do nothing to help him. Right now, the only thing Hisoka wanted to do was to throw himself into a pair of strong arms and cry, though he knew that would do him little good as well, considering he knew that those amethyst eyes would be weeping too. He wondered if there was any persuading Enma into performing a miracle, for it seemed that something drastic was necessary to keep death from casting its pallor over Shokan-ka. 

++

Tatsumi had seen his life blaze by, seasons whirling through his head, fragments of memories that he'd long forgotten. The death of his father. Moving into his mother's ancestral home. The looks of distain her family gave the remnants of the Tatsumi clan as mother, son and daughter humbly threw themselves at the mercy of the patriarch, Tatsumi no more than ten or eleven. His grandfather extorting their family, allowing them to live in the house but having to pay rent and buy their own food. He worked, the only one who could, toiled in rice paddies until his back ached and his fingernails had been ripped down to the pink part from scrabbling in the muddy and rocky soil. That was before he went to school, learned secretarial work and accounting, got an internship at a rapidly growing company in town. Every bit of money went to supporting his family, protecting his mother, who'd grown so frail since the death of her beloved husband. And Tatsumi had always known that he made her sad, that she would cry at nights when she thought he was sleeping, for she could see her husband in her son, and it broke her shattered heart. 

And then that day came, the horrible day that had been lurking in the back of his subconscious for almost a hundred years. Tatsumi was following himself, Seiichiro now ten years younger than his Shinigami counterpart, Kana a very beautiful fifteen. They were coming home from school, his black-haired sister carrying a paper parcel. 

"Are you _sure _you're feeling all right, Seii? You look so pale today."

He waved her off. "Yes, Kana, I'm fine. I worked a late shift last night so we could afford eel for supper, remember?"

"I know, but you better not be getting sick, Seii. If you stop working, even for a day, we wouldn't have enough money to afford some watery miso or even a single soybean. Not the way Grandfather's been hassling Mama for more money lately."

Seiichiro nodded, his eyes growing a little hard. His grandfather was extorting and blackmailing their family, making his own daughter cower in fear of him, all because of his hatred for her late husband. He promised himself that as soon as he'd saved enough money, he'd move his mother and Kana as far away from the place as possible, perhaps to Okinawa.

They stepped into the house, toeing off their shoes at the door. Kana ran ahead, calling for their mother. Seiichiro lingered on the threshold, something not feeling quite _right. _His sister let out a horrible scream, sending Seiichiro flying, Tatsumi following, matching him stride for stride. She stood in the doorway of the next room, her shaking hand pointing inwards. Their mother was spattered across the room; gore dripping from the walls, the mutilated remnants of her corpse quivering in the middle of the floor. Seiichiro ran to her, screaming, picking up her head and holding it in his lap. Her eyes were still open, face contorted into a soundless scream. Blood seeped into his clothes, smeared on his hands. Kana was sobbing. 

"Mama…oh God, Seii…Mama…" she babbled, her knees giving out. 

There was a scraping sound, the sound a shoji screen makes when it's being pushed aside, and their maternal grandfather stood there, a katana in his hand, the blade dripping scarlet. His clothes were mottled with blood, eyes cold and cruel. Seiichiro glared at him, Tatsumi as well, the two halves of the same being rising to face him. 

"How could you do this?" Seiichiro cried, waving his bloodied hands as Tatsumi mimicked him involuntarily. "How could you kill our mother? Your own daughter?"

"The bitch was having another one of her sobbing fits. This was the only way she would shut up," his grandfather spat. "The useless whore, so lazy, couldn't even do housework. I should've killed her years ago while I had the opportunity. I knew she was going to be trouble, but I never expected this much. Marrying some half-caste cur, giving birth to a son just as worthless as his father. She was screaming for you, Seiichiro. Right before she died."

Both Seiichiro and Tatsumi started at this. He had forgotten all of the conversation he'd had that day, and hearing the words a second time made them all the more painful. 

"Stop it! Please, Grandfather, stop this!" Kana cried. The man picked her up from the back of her collar and threw her. Kana sailed across the room, crashing into the screen on the opposite side. Seiichiro saw red, Tatsumi saw black. 

"Kana!" 

His grandfather stepped forward, malice glinting in his eyes, sword swinging menacingly. "I'll rid myself of you…I've had enough of pretending to be generous. You've shamed your mother, Seiichiro, disgraced her…you failed to protect her. A better son wouldn't have let this happen. I should kill you last, so the final thing you see before you die is your sister's broken corpse, so you can go to the afterlife knowing you failed her as well. You miserable brats aren't worthy of bearing my blood in your veins, and you can tell your fool mother that when you see her in Hell."

He moved towards Kana, ready to swing the blade down on her. Seiichiro leapt into the way, taking the blow, the brutally sharp edge sinking into his flesh along his collarbone. Seiichiro let out an inhuman scream, shadows flinging themselves off the walls, leaping hungrily at his grandfather. The older man let out a terrible cry that was squelched as the shadows rent him limb from limb, blood and blackness splattering the already filthy walls. As long as Seiichiro kept screaming the shadows continued, stopping only when the young man ran out of breath. By then there was hardly anything left of his grandfather. Kana, bleeding, rose from where she'd fallen. 

"Seii…what did you do?" she gasped. "How…what did you do?"

Seiichiro stared at her, at the carnage, realizing he'd killed his own grandfather and murdered his mother in failing to protect her. With a strangled cry, he rose to shaking feet and soaked in the blood of his mother and grandfather as well as his own, he ran. Tatsumi stood in the house shaking, his unbroken hand touching his collarbone, the scarred flesh that remained there even after his death. Kana was weeping into her hands, surrounded by death. Tatsumi had killed two people and abandoned his sister, making himself a monster in her mind. This was the taint he lived with, frozen into his heart for a century of suffering, locked away so that no one could see. He left the house, the memory, walking into a void of nothingness before he buried his face in his hands and sobbed. Despair strode up beside him and put chill arms around the man, caressing him with a cold and callow touch. 

++

Notes: So there, that's my interpretation of Tatsumi's life up until a certain point. That should explain a whole hell of a lot, at least, I thought it did. I was going to do something about his actual death, but I couldn't decide on how Tatsumi should die. Part of me says suicide, but both Tsuzuki _and _Tatsumi killing themselves sounds a bit much to me. I don't know. See y'all next chapter. 


	8. Letting Go

            What to expect this chapter? Watari has gone all scary and blood-lusty and Tatsumi's just trying to stay alive. Poor bunnies. I hope they'll be okay. Wait…what am I saying? I know what's going to happen! You guys better hope that, then. See you in a few. 

++

Watari took a sheaf of papers from the photocopier tray and bound them together with his hair ribbon into a neat package. He glanced at the clock, almost six-thirty. Almost twenty-four hours since Tatsumi had been whisked away into the night. The sky was beginning to darken, and he realized there was still much to do and little time to do it in. The young scientist scurried back to the lab, into the little cubby of a room where he used to sleep on a cot in the corner, before Tatsumi, before sharing a bed with another man and waking up to hear his heartbeat pulsing in time with his own. There was a cheap full-length mirror, really only well-shined aluminum, pinned to the door, and Watari noticed his reflection for the first time all day. He looked as though he'd been dragged through the muddy irrigation ditches of some rice paddy in the far-flung countryside and forced to walk all the way back to Meifu with no shoes, uphill the whole route. 

            He clucked his tongue at the sight of his disheveled state and kicked off his shoes, throwing down the sweater he'd pulled on hurriedly, the wrinkled slacks, until he stood there in the little back room in nothing but the bodysuit he wore under everything, the black material tight against his thin figure. He dug into a filing cabinet that had doubled as a bureau and pulled out a pair of thick-soled black boots, jamming his feet into them and hitching up the laces. The young man rooted around for a hairbrush and ripped it through his long, curling gold locks, lashing the unruly mane into a tight braid, tying it off with a black ribbon. There, he looked less frumpy, more the way a Shinigami was supposed to look. The scientist picked up his packet of papers with hands clad in his usual fingerless gloves and stomped out into the lab proper, filling water dishes and food bowls for his birds before closing up shop for the night. He had more pressing matters to attend to. 

            Everyone scurried out of their offices and cubicles to line the hallway as Watari strode past, a man on his death march. Tsuzuki and Hisoka stood in their doorway, Tsuzuki's arm around Hisoka's shoulders. Watari paused to speak with them, his amber eyes burning with cold fire. 

            "If I fail, it's up to you. Don't let Muraki scare you, don't let my or Tatsumi's deaths be in vain. And above all, don't you _dare_ stop believing in me for a single moment. I sure as hell am not going to let that fucking bastard hurt anyone else, not tonight, not ever. It ends now."

Hisoka nodded grimly. Tsuzuki relinquished his hold on the boy to throw his arms about the young scientist's neck, bringing his lips close to his ear. 

            "Stay safe, fight dirty, bring Tatsumi home," he murmured. "Happy hunting, little brother."

Watari grinned. "Damn right I'm your little brother. And I promise I'll give that son-of-a-bitch an extra couple of smacks for you."

            He strode off, banners waving, marching resolutely into Tatsumi's office and shutting the door behind him. Tsuzuki stared at the coworkers still lining the halls. Saya and Yuma were in hysterics, Wakaba was gripping Terazuma's shirtsleeve as tightly as she could, the Gushoshin twins were hovering solemnly. 003 fluttered in and dropped down onto Hisoka's shoulder, the youth putting up a finger to stroke her breast feathers. 

            "Where's Konoe?" Tsuzuki asked. 

Terazuma lit a cigarette. "Last I heard, he and the Count went to go talk to Lord Enma."

            "All right everyone," Hisoka piped up, his voice echoing through the hallway. "I think it's in our best interests to get the infirmary ready for their return. Tatsumi's going to be badly injured and Watari will be too tired to tend to him. I want anyone with any sort of medical training to come with me. Everybody else, go with Tsuzuki down to the armory and stock up on fuda talismans and anything you can carry. We have to be prepared for the worst, whichever worst it's going to be."

            Inside Tatsumi's office, Watari flipped on the lights. Everything was the way it had been left yesterday morning, down to the cup of coffee left on the blotter. The room was immaculate as always, as if the secretary had merely stepped out for a few minutes and would return momentarily. Watari smiled wistfully at this thought, picking up a coat from the coat rack in the corner. It was a black knee-length trench, one he himself had given Tatsumi for his birthday. 

            "I saved up every bit I could to buy this damn thing, since my own birthday last April," he murmured, throwing it on. It smelled like Tatsumi's cologne. 

            The chair to his desk was facing the window, the back to Watari, and he half expected it to slowly spin around to reveal either Muraki leering at him and making some generic Muraki-ish threat or Tatsumi's bloodless body, his filmed-over eyes lolled back in his head. He shuddered, banishing the thoughts from his mind. Tatsumi was still alive; he could sense it, though that tenuous grip was growing fainter with every passing second. 

            "All right, Yutaka, keep your cool and you'll be just fine. Don't let him intimidate you; he's just a twisted man with a lot of issues. Keep your guard up, don't get distracted, and don't believe a word of the bullshit he tries feeding you because it's all there to frighten you," he said, breathing deeply. Sometimes a scientist's logic was a godsend. 

            Watari closed his eyes, slowing his breathing down as much as he could. Farseeing was one of those Shinigami talents that were few and far between, and Watari just happened to possess enough of it that he could manage. It helped to be linked to the person you were trying to find in some way, and Watari had a red ribbon guiding him there. He could feel the world shudder as the images flashed before his mind. There was Muraki, leaning against a cold stone wall, a cigarette clenched between his fingers. He was watching something in the darkness, something writhing and twitching and screaming like an inhuman thing. Tatsumi. He could see a charnel house, a cemetery, a hill, a town. His eyes snapped open, blazing. 

            "Ask not for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee."

++

            "It's sort of ironic, really," Muraki said, flicking ash. "Do you even know where we are, Mr. Tatsumi? This is your family's mausoleum. Your mother, your grandfather, your sister…why, I do believe even _your _body is buried here. It's a lasting tribute to everyone you murdered. And your immortal body will rest here as well, how fitting. Because, to tell you the truth, I honestly doubt you're going to be rescued. Nobody wants you, they're all better off with you gone."

            "Lies…" Tatsumi choked out, trying to break from the black shroud covering him. "Lies!"

The silver-haired man hefted his stiletto again. "Oh? What makes you think that? Do tell."

            "Watari…Watari won't abandon me…"

            "The little blonde in the labcoat? He won't want anything to do with you. You're a monster, a hideous killer. You killed your own mother. How could anyone want to love someone as tainted as you, Mr. Tatsumi? Your soul is just as filthy as mine, as Tsuzuki's, as the boy's."

            "No…"

            "Yes! It is and you know it. That's why Tsuzuki never loved you, because he saw what you really are, a ravenous bloodthirsty beast."

Muraki came closer, step by menacing step. The shadow-eater wasn't working quickly enough, it was pulling the memories from Tatsumi's subconscious and shoving him face-first into them, but he hadn't come all the way undone yet. Something a touch more drastic seemed necessary. Besides, it would be a shame to let that beautiful body go unspoiled, and he wasn't a fan of necrophilia. One pale hand reached for his belt buckle, the other twirling the slender knife between thin fingers. Tatsumi's suit jacket he'd long since removed, his binding charm was more effective without heavy material in the way, and the dress shirt was so thoroughly soaked in blood it was falling off anyways. He pulled it apart with little effort, exposing the brunette man's shoulder blades. The steely-eyed doctor licked the stiletto blade before carving into the skin, drawing intricate wings over those shoulder blades, blood outlining feathers made from flesh. Wings to accompany his angelically blue eyes. He lazily finished, loosening his belt. 

"And now, Mr. Tatsumi, let us see if your little blonde friend will still love you after you've been corrupted. I wonder if he will. Somehow I doubt it. Rape does have a way of scarring someone far more than any other form of torture, and it's so much fun too."

            Tatsumi's mind was shutting down. He was going to hide the broken bits he could gather far from Muraki's touch, safe in some dark recess where nobody could harm them. All the memories that couldn't be tainted, locked away with the small crumbs of reason he had. All his love, for Tsuzuki, for Hisoka, and Watari. Every quarrel over the budget that he'd eventually lost, every smile, every lazy Sunday spent lying in bed together, 003 loudly demanding breakfast and going ignored as Watari sprawled over his chest, he threading sunshine gold locks between his fingers. Every touch, every kiss, every time they'd ever made love, it was all being carefully wrapped and put away. 

            "I'm sorry…" he murmured, letting go. 

++

            Notes: At some point I'll draw up a picture of Watari in his all-black ensemble, if I haven't already done so. I type these notes up in advance, so that I can post chapters that much more quickly. 

            The comment about Watari being Tsuzuki's little brother, I threw that in there just to emphasize how strong a bond these guys have. Though you really don't get it out of the anime, Watari and Tsuzuki are rather close. After all, who but Tsuzuki would willingly drink some of Watari's potions? 

            And as for Muraki, the stiletto, and Tatsumi's wings…just in case anyone's confused, a stiletto is a knife with a thin blade, not just a high-heeled shoe. And the scars, well, I kind of see Muraki as a sadist who has this big thing about blood and sex, but I didn't want to put curse scars on Tatsumi because then we'd get stuck with two Hisokas and that'd just be freaking creepy. So I thought scars in the shape of wings over his shoulder blades would look rather cool, even if it is cruel of me to be marking up Tatsumi like that. 

            See you next chapter!


	9. If Anything's Happened to You

And now, one of many moments you've probably been waiting for, the scene in which Watari gets to do some ass-kicking. I won't spoil anything, I promise. Just go on and read the chapter, I'll talk at the end. 

++

The wind whipped at Watari's hair, but he'd braided it too tightly for anything but the shortest wisps that refused to obey to bluster against his forehead. It was dark, and a big pumpkin moon hung over the crest of the hill, over the crypt where he knew Muraki to be. He wasn't afraid. He was angry, fury boiling in his blood. There would be a reckoning tonight that would shake the cosmos right down to the core. 

            "Muraki!" Watari's voice rang through the cemetery, sounding sharp to even himself. "I know you're here!"

Nothing but silence and the sound of Watari's own heartbeat resonated in his ears. But there was no mistaking the gravity in the air, it was heavy with the touch of impending death, the taste of blood. The wind licked at the hem of the black trench, Tatsumi's coat, giving the young man dressed in black the appropriate atmosphere, making him seem as otherworldly as he should be. 

            "Muraki! I won't repeat myself!"

            He appeared almost instantly, the doctor dressed in white from head to toe. Not a single spatter of blood on his clothes, though Watari could certainly smell it on him. His lips were curved into a sinister, smirking grin, the kind of look that promised pain and a slow torture. He seemed to glow in the dim light, though his countenance could not nearly compare to that of the ethereally pale man with burning amber eyes, dressed in billowing black. 

            "Mr. Watari, I presume," he said, giving a mocking bow. "I expected more of a challenge."

            "Don't discount me yet. I'd give you the whole speech, Muraki, but you already know what crimes you've committed against Meifu and we both know you're not going to surrender peacefully. But I will say this. If you let Tatsumi go now, I'll let you walk away from this fight."

            "Making threats, aren't you cute? And what makes you think I took your precious secretary? How can you be sure he didn't just grow tired of all of you and just leave?"

Watari's eyes narrowed. "Because I can smell his blood on you."

            "You know, you picked a rather inopportune time to arrive. I was rather in the middle of something…" his smile widened enough to split his face. "Something like raping your lover."

            "Shut your fucking mouth, Muraki. I'm not afraid of you."

            "You should be."

Watari smirked. "You know what your problem is, Doctor? You can't handle facing your own damn demons so you make everyone suffer with theirs. Your half-brother was a fucking bastard in the figurative sense of the word and made your childhood a living Hell. He killed your family and you don't even get to take revenge for them. And so, in retribution, you take away things that aren't yours; life, happiness, everything that you were denied. And I'm telling you right now that you can't take Tatsumi away from me. So you can either stand down now, or crawl back to your pal Oriya in pieces."

            Muraki simply stared at him, trying not to let on that a nerve had been struck, that his usually unflappable nature had just been ripped away, exposing the quivering insides of the truth. This worthless-seeming little man had just stripped him down to his faults and damned if he wasn't right. The only thing he could do now was to throw back on his cool composure and pretend as if he hadn't heard a word. 

            "How do you propose to do that, Mr. Watari? I know of you, your powers are limited to bringing life to the inanimate. Are you going to throw a toaster at me?" Muraki taunted, lighting a cigarette. His sleeve glinted with something blue. Cuff links, Tatsumi's cuff links, ones he only wore with his best suit. Watari could have torn the windpipe clear from Muraki's throat with just his fingers. 

            "Life to the lifeless, actually, " he corrected, placing one hand on the ground. "And it works out so nicely that you decided to hold this little party in a cemetery."

The ground shuddered, crypts quaking as rivulets of purple-black power streamed through the earth. Muraki merely laughed. 

            "Most of these people were cremated, Mr. Watari. You're going to fight me with a cloud of ashes?" 

To his surprise, bones shot up from the earth, forming skeletons clad in samurai armor, waving ragged banners. Ghostly warriors from every era sprang from the ground and stood in marked battle lines behind their summoner. Watari's face broke into an eerie grin, eyes flaming with a mad fire. 

            "The most recent people were cremated, Doctor, but as any scientist would do, I did my research. Almost all of the Kanto Plains were, at one time, used as battlegrounds and burial grounds alike. There are bones buried deep in every square inch of Japan, you just have to know where to find them. Gentlemen," he cried, turning to his army. "That pasty-pale man standing over there reeking of the blood of the innocent is the one you're after. Make him pay, but leave him alive. The honor of killing him belongs to some friends of mine."

            "Afraid to fight your own battles, Mr. Watari? Cowering behind these pitiful summonings because you can't face me on your own?" Muraki called. 

            "I simply don't have the time to waste on you, Muraki. You're always conjuring up some hell-spawn from the netherworld to sic on us while you're scampering off, I don't see why I can't. And, just as a precautionary tactic, I brought along a little something else, in case the skeletons don't get you."

            Watari pulled the ream of papers from the inner coat pocket, untying them and tossing them into the air, charging every sheet with his power. Monstrous women pulled themselves out of the photocopied image on each piece, horrid creatures with serpentine hair and blood dripping from their cat-pupil eyes. They flew on black wings that smelled of decay, claws clacking. 

            "The Furies, Greek goddesses of vengeance. They enjoy preying upon those who murder and those who torture the innocent. The gentleman in white, my ladies! And leave him alive, if you'd be so kind, his head is marked for another man who deserves to rend it from his shoulders far more than I do!" 

            Muraki was surrounded by hundreds of creatures, bent on ripping him apart. Watari smiled at him, a cold smile that promised suffering, a smile that usually graced his own lips. 

            "How does it feel to fear, Doctor?" he asked, striding across the grounds to stare at Muraki nearly nose-to-nose. He held out his hand. "The cuff links, give them to me."

The steel-eyed doctor threw them at the younger man. Watari's smile didn't fade as he cocked his fist back, fingers clenched around the cuff links, and slammed it full-force into that perfectly pale face, the satisfying crunch of bone breaking ringing in his ears. Muraki hadn't even dodged the blow. Watari knew not to take his small victory lightly, certain the madman was merely toying with him. But Muraki stepped aside, walking into the midst of Watari's conjured warriors with his usual aplomb, blood running down his face. 

"Don't think, just run," Watari muttered to himself, charging for the door to the crypt. He could hear roaring and shrieking behind him, not even stopping to look. His hands closed around the rusty door-pull, tugging at it with all his strength. The door wouldn't budge. He tried infusing it with his power, but there wasn't much left of that. He braced one foot against the opposite door and tugged, growling, muscles straining with the effort. 

"For the love of…I can teleport," he realized, shifting from one side of the door to the other. It was probably a waste of power, but at that moment, he didn't care. Muraki was busy and there was time enough to grab Tatsumi and run. 

"Please be all right…please be all right…" he whispered, seeing nothing but pitch black. "I'll never forgive myself if anything's happened to you."

++

            Notes: Okay, so Watari summoned a whole bunch of skeletons. I honestly don't think he can do that for several reasons…

1. It _is _Japanese tradition to cremate the dead, so there probably aren't skeletons buried anywhere in Japan, but I had an episode of _Shaman King _on not to long ago and that takes place in Japan and they had skeletons coming out of coffins, so I thought, why not? At least my idea sounds vaguely plausible. 

2. I honestly don't think Watari's powers extend that far. But I wanted to give him a fair fighting chance against Muraki and the Furies, though they are rather cool, just didn't seem to have enough oomph. 

And with regards to breaking Muraki's nose, I just really wanted Watari to kick some shit out of him on his own, and I figured he'd be pretty pissed if ol' One Eyed and Sadistic was wearing something of Tatsumi's on his personage. So, the moral of this chapter, kids, don't mess with Watari or Tatsumi's cuff links if you don't want your nose broken! See you next chapter! 


	10. He Passed Out

I'll leave you guys to get right on with the fic. My babbling will just ruin the tense dramatic moment of the chapter. See you down at the bottom. 

++

Tatsumi heard a voice at the edge of his subconscious, where he'd buried all that was left sane. It sounded familiar, but far away, shrouded in layers of shadow. Murderous shadow. He wanted to stop that voice, silence it so he could die in peace. Muraki had gone, leaving the small portion of his sanity still screaming in agony at the torture he'd succumbed to. But there was still that voice, warped in his mind, sounding foreign and horrible. 

            "Tatsumi…" it beckoned, that monstrous voice. The voice of death? Tatsumi let out a shrill cry, lurching upwards and clawing at the air with his nails. He struck flesh, raking it. He held his fingers on the wounds, trying to dig them deeper, the furrows of broken skin closing underneath his fingertips. Flesh that healed instantly. Someone brushed a lock of hair from his forehead, kissing his temple with the gentlest touch. 

            "Stay away from me," he rasped, unable to move, lying facedown in a viscous pool of blood. "Don't touch me. He'll come, I know he will. He loves me."

            "Tatsumi, it's me…I'm here…I've come to take you home, love. We're going home."

That voice…he knew that voice with its Kansai accent and its awkward lilt. He'd heard that voice every day for thirty-three years. He reached out, eyes unfocused, blood and tears wet on his face. Bloody fingers snagged something, he couldn't feel what it was. There was a jerk, the thick rope in his hand unraveling to silk. Tatsumi began to sob, his ruined body convulsing. 

            "Watari…"

It had to be a trick, another memory, another phantom Muraki was dangling in front of him. He'd been abandoned; there was no one to save him now. Who would want to? But he couldn't deny the soft touch, the long fingers rough from work and chemicals, the murmur of words, the flurry of kisses. His mind felt like so much shattered glass, all of it slogging down into the miasma of pain and blood Muraki had brought bubbling to the surface. Every death scream, every eye full of tears, he'd seen them playing as constant pain sang through his body. He'd seen Tsuzuki sobbing on the edge of a ratty hotel bed and remembered the panic, thinking of his mother in her crying fits, thinking of what would happen if Tsuzuki didn't stop. He remembered Tsuzuki trying to die at Kyoto, how helpless he'd been. And he saw Watari being tortured, screaming in pain, not a memory but a future threat. He couldn't hold his mind together; it kept slipping through crushed fingers like sand. He was losing his sanity fast, needed something to cling to desperately. 

"Help me…" he whispered, clutching that handful of hair as tightly as he could. "Help…"

The sensation of being lifted, it felt more like falling. He was falling, fading, dying. Enma help him, he'd never ask for anything ever again if he just kept his mind. Tatsumi didn't even care if he was an invalid, a useless Shinigami lying in a bed, he wanted his sanity back. He was losing everything, even those pretty fragments of happy memories, forgetting it all, down to his own name. He clung tightly to one last thought, the sensation of being loved, a pair of intense amber eyes, and a name. 

"Watari…"

++

            Tatsumi was in bad shape, Watari had known that instantly. Beyond the broken bones, the blood, and the matter of being partially raped, he could feel the psychological damage and it was beyond repair. The scientist could feel him unraveling and had no words, his wouldn't do much good anyways. Tatsumi sounded so broken, lost, somewhere far from anywhere. The blonde man scooped him up in his arms, cradling him close as he teleported outside the crypt. He couldn't just make the jump from Chijou to Meifu in one go, the force might tear Tatsumi to shreds. Flying seemed to be the only option, flying or walking through a Torii Gate, a manmade barrier between the realms of mortals and spirits. 

            "There's nothing left," he breathed, realizing that the entire cemetery had been decimated, scorch marks on the ground, tombstones cracked, shreds of paper tumbling across the burnt earth. Muraki was nowhere to be seen, but that was probably a good thing. Hopefully he wouldn't resurface any time soon, Watari simply didn't have the energy to face him. 

            "Tatsumi? Can you hear me? Don't you dare go catatonic on me now, I didn't risk my life for you to leave me, got that? You have to pull yourself out, I can't go where you are right now. Please, Tatsumi, don't abandon me."

There was no reply, not even the flutter of his eyelids. Just the squelchy sound of his breathing and the torpid beat of his heart. 

            Watari decided to get down the hill, there was a Torii Gate at the end of the street that he could shift through and save teleportation for getting to their Diet Building. Tatsumi was a heavy weight in his arms, slick with blood and sweat. He stumbled, staggering slowly down the path. A swirl of white mist rose from the ground in front of them, Muraki materializing in his way. The doctor was bleeding from any number of gashes, bruised, his nose still bent at the odd angle Watari had left it at when he'd broken it. And he was smiling the sick grin of Death. 

            "I must say you surprised me, Mr. Watari. I didn't expect you to put up such a decent fight. But as you can see, it wasn't enough."

            "Move out of my way, Muraki, I don't have time for this."

The silver-haired man hardly seemed fazed by the order. "You Shinigami are forever meddling with my plans, aren't you? It's so bothersome. First that boy, then the secretary, now you. I suppose I'll have to make you pay now."

            "Make me pay?" Watari retorted. "What more do you want?! You got your vengeance on Tatsumi…that's what you wanted, wasn't it? Vengeance? You decided you'd make him suffer, is that it? That's low even for you, Muraki. Tatsumi has done nothing but suffer for a hundred years of existence. And you have the balls to say you're going to make me pay. I really should hate you, you know. You've damaged him beyond anything I can ever hope to repair, you've taken my one reason for existing away from me and you've sentenced him to eternal damnation. I should hate you, but I don't. I pity you."

            "Pity me, really? Do expound on this, Mr. Watari, I'm eager to hear why."

            "Underneath all of that wickedness, that soul-consuming magic, the bravado, is a scared little boy who doesn't know how to cope with his own self-loathing. Saki took everything from you, left you alone and miserable, and you vowed you'd never feel that way again. So you tried getting pleasure from bringing other people to that same misery, hoping it would take the empty feeling away, but it doesn't, does it? I'm sure you don't go home at night and say to yourself 'I feel good about myself, I raped a thirteen-year-old boy, cursed him and murdered him.' You swore to get your revenge, and that promise swallowed you whole. You could've been something better than this, you didn't have to end up as a demon. You didn't have to be another Saki. And I'm sorry that you deem your life so wretched that taking away others' is the only way you feel better. I'm going to leave, and you're not going to stop me. I suggest you go back to whatever rock you've been hiding under for the past seven years and pray I can undo the damage you've done to this poor man. And if I can't, then I suggest you have your will written up, because you will have all of Meifu to answer to. Good night, Doctor."

            Muraki said nothing, watching as the blonde man and his burden flickered out of existence. Watari hadn't wanted to teleport, but he wasn't about to try walking any further. Not unless he wanted the steely-eyed doctor to reach out and stick a knife in his throat. That very same doctor stood staring at the empty air, unable to move or speak. This had been a far more serious defeat than any he'd been dealt. The young scientist's words had burned more than even Toda's flame, and he felt seared straight through to his bones. More than physical pain, he'd torn decades of emotional scarring out and held the cruel, cold truth in gloved hands. And somehow, Muraki had been put on the same level as the victim he'd tortured, forced into the shadows he'd created. He couldn't handle the concept, prisoner and jailer one and the same. Muraki did the only thing he thought appropriate at a time like this. He passed out. 

++

            Notes: Hey, if I were Muraki and I had all of that psychiatric mumbo-jumbo whipped at me at a high rate of speed by a very put out scientist with a Kansai accent, I'd probably pass out too. Serves him right, though, thinking he was superior to anyone and everyone else. And I made sure Watari's logic was airtight, just in case somebody wanted to argue with why Muraki was being such a bitch to everyone. Now you know, and knowing is half the battle. See you next chapter!


	11. When He Wakes Up

Just when you think things couldn't get any more tense in this story, they do! So let's get right to the action, and I'll meet you with a follow-up at the end. 

++

"Tsuzuki, someone's coming."

The violet-eyed man looked up from the break room couch, where he was sprawled, reading a trashy magazine. Hisoka was sitting at the end of the same piece of furniture, leaning against Tsuzuki's knees, playing with a Rubik's Cube the Gushoshin had found somewhere. He'd completed all of the blue side, but could get nothing else. 

            "Someone? Hisoka, it's barely been two hours since Watari left. You don't think…"

The boy got up. "I don't know. That's why you and I should go out there and see. My empathy can't get a fix on whoever it is because you're projecting your emotions too loudly, as is everyone else here. All I can feel is worry. So we've got to go out there."

            "What if it's…"

            "Don't even suggest that, Asato Tsuzuki. But take a few fuda talismans, just in case."

            The two partners threw on coats and Hisoka loaded the gun he carried for emergency occasions, like this one. They stormed down the hallway, Tsuzuki's trench coat billowing behind him as they hurried out the front doors. The wind was incredible, ripping blossoms from the sakura trees, charging the air with a thick pink cloud. A figure was discernable at the edge of the walk, trudging towards the front steps, carrying something in its arms. 

            "Hey!" Tsuzuki called out. "Stop right there! I'm warning you!"

            "Don't you fucking dare talk to me like that, Asato Tsuzuki! Now get your ass over here and help me before I collapse!" a lilting voice punctuated with a thick Kansai accent shouted back. 

            "Watari?" Hisoka asked to his partner. Tsuzuki was already halfway down the walk, screaming in elation that the sunny blonde had made it out of a fight with Muraki unscathed. Hisoka stuck his head into the office building and hollered up to the makeshift medical team on standby before joining the two other men. 

            "I can't believe it, I can't believe you're really here and you're all right and how the hell did you manage that one you little bitch?" Tsuzuki babbled. 

Watari shook his head. "Fought dirty, like you told me. I stuck my skinny little fingers in _his _wounds, ripped them open, and rubbed a half-ton of salt in them. And while I couldn't bring you back an ear, Bon, I did break Muraki's nose over a pair of cuff links. We've got to hurry, though, Tatsumi's really bad off and unresponsive."

            "Unresponsive?" Hisoka murmured, his emerald eyes staring at the motionless form in Watari's slackening arms. The older blonde was tired, emotionally and physically drained, not to mention coated in blood. 

            "Mental rape," the scientist said, his tone grave. "His whole psyche's been run through the wringer and then jammed through a paper shredder a couple of times. I don't know if I can repair the damage."

            "It's that bad?" Tsuzuki asked. 

Watari nodded, his eyes starting to prick with tears. "He sort of recognized me when I first got to him, but after that he just blanked out. Of course, the blinding physical pain doesn't help at all."

            The medical team hurried down with a stretcher they'd found in one of the infirmary closets and carried Tatsumi off to the ward, hurriedly giving Watari assurances as if they were putting things into the hands of another doctor. But Watari was the only doctor they had, and there just wasn't enough time to send to another department for one right now. 

            "You've got to be tired," Tsuzuki said, clapping an arm around his sagging shoulders. 

            "Wiped out," he replied. "But I'm needed. Just going to pop into the lab and take a shower under the emergency faucet, change into something less bloody, throw on the old labcoat and see what I can do to make everything better. Until I get there, will you go stay with Tatsumi? Please, Tsuzuki?"

            "You don't even have to ask. Come on, Hisoka, we've got work to do."

            "What about Muraki?" the teenager hazarded. 

Watari shot him a weak smile. "He'd be pretty stupid if he tried messing with us any time soon. I might not have physical firepower, but I ripped into his consciousness and handed it back to him quivering. It's going to take him some time to sort out everything I threw at him."

++

            The crowd of "medical personnel" parted when Watari finally came in, an aura of composed determination surrounding him. His wet hair was piled on top of his head and pinned in place, though where he'd found the hairpins nobody knew or was going to question. He adjusted his glasses and walked calmly over to a cabinet, picking out a bottle, filling a hypodermic needle, and injecting the fluid into Tatsumi's arm. 

            "What's that?" Tsuzuki asked distractedly, too busy staring at the patient. 

            "His healing powers were shut down so Muraki could bleed him dry, this ought to serve as a jumpstart. But I'm giving him a transfusion at any rate. Go into the medical fridge and get me a bag of blood, dear. You know his blood type, I'm sure."

He obeyed, off on his little mission while Watari started an IV drip. Hisoka finished tying off the bandages on Tatsumi's crushed hand. 

            "Wakaba's calling around to the other departments, she said it'll be ten or fifteen minutes before we can get any hospital backup here," he informed Watari. "Have you eaten?"

            "Told Yuma to go buy me some crap from the vending machines, she and Saya wouldn't hear of it so they've gone home to cook me a casserole or something. I'll eat after Tatsumi's been stabilized."

            Tsuzuki came back with the bag and Watari merely stuck in another line, his expression as sterile as the white-walled room they stood in. Some of the more superficial wounds were already starting to close. 

            "There'll probably be some scarring, especially on the shoulder blades. Did you two see what he did?"

            "Wings," Hisoka said with a shudder. "If it wasn't so disturbing, I'd say it would almost look pretty."

            "What would look even prettier right now would be if those baby blues of his would open."

Tsuzuki nodded. "Remember the day you first came here, Watari?"

            "Yeah, Tatsumi thought I was a Westerner, shook my hand and tried valiantly to speak in English. It took him five minutes of broken rambling before he realized I was Japanese. I've never let him live it down. What about the time you made him that birthday cake and he ended up getting food poisoning?"

            "It was an accident! Hey Watari…why are we talking about him like he's gone?"

            "Defense mechanism," he replied. "We're trying to make ourselves feel better about the fact that he's lying motionless in a hospital bed completely catatonic. We're trying to ignore that Muraki got him and we might not get him back."

            "You're still in shock, Watari?" Hisoka asked quietly. 

            "Bon, at this point, I'm beyond shock. I'm running solely on autopilot now, otherwise I'd be a mess of tears and Tatsumi doesn't need me falling to bits on him at a time like this. I know what I told you earlier about sobbing hysterically, but I don't get to do that just yet."

            "When will you?"

He sighed, stroking away a lock of hair from Tatsumi's forehead. "When he wakes up."

++

            Notes: Nothing much to say, I put the thing about Hisoka and the Rubik's Cube at the beginning of the chapter because we have one next to our computer that I'm always fiddling with. I can get all of any one color but that's it and it drives me mental. And for the record, Tatsumi's blood type is A. (Watari's is O.) Just thought you'd want to know that. See you next chapter. 


	12. Hold Tight

This chapter is all about dream sequences and mindscapes and cool stuff like that. I think I sort of got the idea from one of Kouri's awesome fics…whichever one was the really confusing one with all the dreams…only mine's not quite as involved (or half as cool). See you at the end. 

++

Watari was dreaming, and the worst part was that he knew he was dreaming. He'd left his body in a metal chair in the infirmary, his arms folded over the guardrail of the bed Tatsumi was in, his head on his arms. And it wasn't even that he was having a horrible nightmare, visions of his lover never waking up or waking up too scarred to function. He was home, lying in bed in a tank top and a pair of boxer shorts, reading. It all seemed so familiar and mundane.

            The door swung open and Tatsumi came in, loosening the tie to his bathrobe, glasses already in hand. He generally sat up and watched the evening news before going to bed. Watari hated the news, thinking the newscasters were obnoxious. He got up and crossed the room, throwing his arms around Tatsumi's neck and sobbing. 

            "Hey, Watari? What is it?"

            "You're not real! This is all a dream and when I wake up you'll be lying cold in a hospital bed and I don't know how to reach you! I'm so scared…"

He smiled, embracing his lover. "It's going to be all right. Don't cry, please Watari, it'll be all right, I promise."

            "You're just saying that because I want you to say that," he replied sulkily. 

            "I'm saying that because it's true. And, to correct you, I am real."

Watari shook his head. "You're just a figment of my subconscious."

            "Damned stubborn scientist," Tatsumi retorted. "I gave you my heart, you idiot, Muraki couldn't taint that because it wasn't there. You've got it. I'm the part of me that goes along with it."

            "But what about the rest of you? I can't cling to a memory the rest of my existence, because if you go, I don't think I can follow. They'll need me here, and I don't want to make Tsuzuki cry any more than he has to."

            "I'll come back, I swear. You're the best thing to happen to me in about a hundred years; I'm not going to give that up now. Watari…come on, smile for me? I know you're scared, but we'll make it through this. I love you."

Watari started to cry again, his shoulders shaking. "I know…"

            "At least look at me."

He looked up and saw those calm azure eyes smiling back at him and it really only made him hurt more. With a hiccupping sob he reached up and brushed his lips against his lover's. Tatsumi returned the gesture, tightening his grip on Watari's waist. 

            "I'll always love you, Watari."

            "Don't leave me, Tatsumi, please don't. I don't know what to do, I need help, I…"

A single tear dropped from his twilight eyes. "Time you woke up, Watari…"

            "No! Tatsumi, don't!"

            He woke to Tsuzuki shaking him, holding out a plate of some noodly dish the Hokkaido girls had made. Watari gave him a look of suffering that said everything he needed to say. 

            "Oh Watari," Tsuzuki sighed, putting the plate elsewhere so he could hold his friend. "We'll get him back. Heaven help us, we'll get him back."

++

            It was dark wherever Tatsumi was. Comfortably warm, but dark. He could just faintly see what was in front of him, and that was a vast expanse of nothingness, littered with broken glass and barbed wire. And blood. There was a lot of blood. He was lying on the ground with his head in someone's lap, that person stroking his hair gently. 

            "I want to go home," he mumbled, his tongue feeling thick and foreign. "I don't know where home is…"

A pair of amber eyes looked down at him. "You've got to find it, Tatsumi. We're counting on you to get better."

            "You know me?"

            "Mm. I'm something of a psycho-physiological manifestation of my heart, which I gave to you. I can't be taken away from you, Tatsumi, don't be afraid."

            "How did you…?"

The smiling man with the pretty amber eyes just kept smiling. "Scientific guess."

            "Maybe I shouldn't go back there…there was a lot of pain. Memories…I killed my mother. I killed her; I killed my grandfather…people died because of me. And there was a man, I think I killed him too…he had purple eyes. I'm a terrible person, I don't think I should go back."

            "You have to. We need you, Tatsumi…I need you."

He sat up, looking down at his hands. They kept phasing between those of a twenty-nine-year-old and those of a nineteen-year-old, both spattered with blood. "I don't think I can."

            "There was a lot of pain," the amber-eyed man said, flicking his long tail of sunny gold hair, made duller by the darkness. "But there were some happy memories mixed in. You have friends; you have a lover who is falling apart without you. Tatsumi, you've got to go home."

            "Why am I even listening to you? You're not real."

He shook his head. "I'm very real. And I love you, Tatsumi. With all that I am."

            "The feeling of being loved…" he murmured. "You're Watari…your name is Yutaka Watari…my…my lover."

The space around Watari grew brighter, a patch of sunlight in all of the darkness. He smiled, standing up and putting his hands on his hips. 

            "Very good. And your name?"

He frowned. "My name…you've been calling me Tatsumi…Tatsumi…Seiichiro Tatsumi. That's me. Seiichiro Tatsumi."

The space around him grew bright as well, as if clouds were parting to reveal bright bands of sunlight. Watari was still smiling. 

            "Aha. That's what you've got to do, Tatsumi. You have to master your shadows to get out. You can do that, you know. Master shadows. You're a Kagetsukai."

            "That's rather important-sounding."

            "It is. You're the only person currently existing who can do it, command shadows like weapons. It's kind of beautiful until it slices somebody's head off. You've got to go, Tatsumi. Go on out there into that vast space that's your mind and send all those shadows back into the nice little corner you hid them in before all of this mess. I know you can do it."

            He took two steps forward, but stopped and turned back to stare at the blonde man still standing in his sunny patch, an unforeseen breeze flicking at his hair and the hem of the labcoat he was wearing. 

            "You're a scientist…" The light brightened. "A pretty bad one, too. I think I yell at you a lot about some of the things you do. But I guess if we're lovers, I don't mind as much as I pretend to."

The light around Watari was almost blinding. "You'll pull through just fine."

            "Watari!" he called, nineteen-year-old face contorting into something of a smile. "Is there a real you waiting on the outside for me? A real Watari?"

He was grinning now, his amber eyes vivid as he pressed his fingertips to his lips and blew the young man a kiss. 

            "You bet there is."

            "Can you tell him? Can you go and tell him, the real Watari…tell him I love him. Please."

His Watari nodded. "I will. Good luck, Tatsumi."

            Tatsumi wrapped his patch of sunlight around him and set off into the empty span of mind, ready to try and come back into the light and the life that he'd fallen out of. And in spite of the great feat in front of him, he smiled, knowing that there was somebody waiting for him on the other side. 

            "I'm coming home, Watari. Hold tight."

++

            Notes: This whole thing about the dream-Tatsumi and dream-Watari probably threw a lot of people, so I'm going to try and explain it as best as I can. 

            Dream-Tatsumi: Well, since Watari and Tatsumi were already a couple before the fic started, they'd pledged each other their hearts and/or souls. As immortal creatures who are, essentially, just a soul with a human body they use to blend in among mortals with, giving part of their souls away is kind of a literal thing. Watari has a small piece of Tatsumi in him, and vice-versa, so the Tatsumi in his mind is really part of the real man. It's kind of on a similar principle to _The Neverending Story. _

            Dream-Watari: The Watari of Tatsumi's mind is similar to the Tatsumi of Watari's mind, with one fairly significant difference. When Tatsumi's mind shut down due to Muraki's torture and his own self-doubts (remember that part?) he kept one scrap of memory, the feeling of Watari's love. So the bit of Watari's soul that Tatsumi possesses has that fragment to hold it together. 

            Still confused? Don't worry, I confused myself. Just read the next chapter, I don't think it's quite so heavy. 


	13. Here Again Soon

This is really just a short, transitional chapter that didn't fit anywhere else so I made it its own chapter. There're some original characters being introduced, but don't worry about them, they're doing absolutely nothing for the plot and can be ignored. See you at the bottom. 

++

Terazuma was grudgingly put on watch duty while Watari got up to make himself some tea. There were times when he just couldn't stomach coffee and this was one of them. Tsuzuki and Hisoka were constantly hovering around him, making sure he was all right, and their concern brought him comfort. 003 hesitantly fluttered down onto his shoulder and nuzzled into his neck, cooing soft words of encouragement, and even the Gushoshin seemed optimistic. 

            "Watari?" Wakaba called softly, leading a band in starched white labcoats through the doors. "The doctors are here."

They were the most ordinary-looking doctors Watari had ever seen. A small band of completely uninteresting, homogeneous and traditionally Japanese-looking people in white labcoats. Not even an unusual eye color among the lot, not Hisoka's green or even Watari's own amber. Certainly not the striking blue of Tatsumi or Tsuzuki's violet. The one woman of the group, who seemed to be roughly Tsuzuki's physical age, stepped forward and bowed respectfully. 

            "Good morning, Dr. Watari. I'm Chinami, that's Shim, Seki, and Chu. We're happy to help you out," she said, smiling brightly. 

He nodded. "Call me Watari. Wakaba, if you don't mind showing them to the infirmary and letting Terazuma know he doesn't have to babysit anymore, it'd be much appreciated."

            "Wait, would you mind telling us what exactly happened?" the one introduced as Chu asked.

Hisoka stepped forward. "It's a long story and Watari's probably not up to telling it so I will and I'll give you the Cliff's Notes of it. One of our colleagues was brutally attacked by a mutual enemy. His physical condition is slowly but steadily improving but the nature of the attacks were such that his mind has basically shut down."

            "Can you be sure of this?" the doctor known as Shim inquired. 

            "I'm an empath. Generally I can't read Mr. Tatsumi's mind because his powers as a Kagetsukai cancel out my empathy, but those have ceased to function as well and I'm telling you there is nothing in his head but some shattered fragments and the reek of fear and self-loathing."

            "Jeez, Hisoka, you sound professional," Tsuzuki commented. 

            "Idiots should shut up," he retorted. 

            "Wait, Seiichiro Tatsumi the Kagetsukai? _The _Seiichiro Tatsumi the Kagetsukai?" Seki asked incredulously. "Man, I can't believe somebody laid him out. That's kind of scary."

Chinami shook her head, muttering, "Shut it, Seki."

            "I'll show you all where you'll be working if you'll follow me," Wakaba offered. 

Tsuzuki nodded. "And you should go home and get some sleep, Watari."

            The blonde looked stricken, his eyes wide behind thick lenses. He clutched at his arms, holding himself protectively, casting his gaze to the tiled floor. "Go home? I…I can't. No. Not alone. Please, please let me stay here. I can't go home if he's not there…no…don't make me, please, I'm begging, I can't. Let me stay."

            "Watari, you're going to make yourself sick or collapse if you don't go home and get some sleep. I know you don't want to leave him but I promise he'll be fine."

            "No, Tsuzuki. I'm telling you I can't. I refuse."

Wakaba coughed delicately. "Watari can stay with me for now. I have a guest room he's welcome to crash in for as long as he needs. Please, Watari? You don't even have to lift a finger, I'll cook and everything. Besides, Mr. Tatsumi would be awfully upset if he knew how much you're abusing yourself. He'd want you to get some rest and a nice hot meal."

            "All right," he replied reluctantly.

            "Wonderful! I'll be right back, then," she said, ushering the band of doctors down the corridor. Tsuzuki rested his hand on Watari's shoulder, the blonde's own hands trembling around his mug of tea. 

            "I know you don't want to leave him, but you can't go on without sleep. It's been almost two days since you've had any. He'll be fine; Hisoka and I will make sure of it. Right?"

The ash-blonde boy nodded. "Right."

            Wakaba, true to form, returned promptly. "I let Mr. Tatsumi know you were coming home with me and that everything would be all right. And 003 seems to want to stay with him and keep her eye on him. Ready to go, Watari?"

He nodded tiredly. "I'll see you guys tomorrow, I guess."

            "Not even tomorrow, Watari. You're not coming back until you're nice and well rested. And don't you worry about Tatsumi a single bit. And be nice to Wakaba. Remember, she's at least ten years older than you!" Tsuzuki chided. 

            "Yes, Momma."

            "And eat your vegetables," Hisoka added quietly. 

Wakaba threaded her arm around Watari's, gently leading him along. It was a comforting thought, that he was being taken care of. He just wished it had been under different circumstances. 

            "Good night, Tatsumi. I'll be here again soon."

++

            Notes: Wakaba gets a lot of special attention in this fic, doesn't she? I really, really like Wakaba. She's so neglected, probably because she really doesn't have much to do and doesn't have any weird hang-ups regarding Hisoka and pink dresses (Saya and Yuma…) so we tend to think of her as the girl with the Cinnapon. So, you get a more important part, Wakaba, and the Hokkaido girls can do whatever they want because they're not nearly as cool as you. 


	14. Yours For Eternity

            I promised sensuality in the warnings at the start of the fic, right? Well, you get that wish fulfilled right now, because there's a touch of lime flavor in this chapter. See you at the bottom. 

++

Watari was dreaming again, another dream of home like before. This time he was standing in front of their bathroom sink, towel wrapped around his waist, mirror foggy with steam as he combed out sopping wet locks. He could hear Tatsumi struggling to get out of bed in the next room; for all of his demands of punctuality, the man was not a morning person. He peered back at his reflection, jumping back, startled. The Watari in the mirror was fully dressed, his hair dry and neatly tied back. 

            "What do you want?" he gasped, watching as his reflection leaned forward, out of the glass. The other Watari smiled warmly. 

            "Relax, I'm here on Tatsumi's behalf."

Watari stared at himself. "Tatsumi's…you're from _my _Tatsumi? But…but they said he had nothing left…his mind is empty."

            "Well, yeah, that's true. But when his system crashed, he retained one memory that left him with a small sense of self, enough to keep him from going absolutely and totally blank. Take a guess what that was."

            "Me?" Watari asked hesitantly. 

His reflection nodded. "Being aware of your love for him kept Tatsumi's mind from totally dissipating. He's working to rebuild it right now and it's going to take some time…it's a really shitty task and I don't know how things are going to turn out, but he wanted me to tell you…Tatsumi said to tell you 'I love you.' So…um, yeah."

            Watari could feel the lump forming in his throat, making it burn. He couldn't swallow the tears that were stinging at his eyes, the visage before him blurring with watery vision. Tatsumi remembered him, if nothing else, he knew that Watari loved him and he loved Watari in return. And he knew deep down that this wasn't another subconscious desire pent-up, a longing to hear from his lover. This was Tatsumi reaching to him in the only way he could, through the shadowy landscape of his dreams. 

            "Thank you. Thank you for telling me," he whispered, hurrying out into the bedroom. 

The Tatsumi of his mind was still lying there; eyes open, staring up at the ceiling in an attempt to rouse himself. "I'm getting up, I promise."

            "No need," Watari answered, climbing onto the bed and straddling his phantom lover's hips. Tatsumi hoisted himself upwards, balancing himself on his arms. 

            "Watari, we need to get ready for work. Konoe will wring our necks if…"

He grinned. "This is a dream, love. And if this is the only way I get to spend time with you while the real Tatsumi's recovering, damned if I'm going to spend it at work."

            Neither man wore much of anything to bed, it was pointless considering the fact that whatever was worn would generally be removed at some point or other. Tatsumi was spread out on the bed with only a corner of sheet to cover him, glasses resting on the bedside table, Watari flipping off his towel. He leaned over and kissed the brunette, wet tendrils of hair brushing against his shoulders and collarbone. Tatsumi returned the gesture, deepening it, sliding his tongue over Watari's lower lip as the blonde's hands fluttered over warm skin. He was so pale compared to Tatsumi, milk-white flesh slipping against duskier-toned. 

            His fingers brushed against the scar on Tatsumi's collarbone and the older man winced, remembering. Watari leaned down and kissed it, nipping at his lover's neck. 

            "I don't care about the damned thing, Tatsumi. I don't care about your past; I don't care about what you might have done or what may have happened. I love you more than anything."

            Tatsumi smiled at him and pulled his young lover down for another kiss, slipping his tongue into his mouth. Watari shivered, pressing his body close. 

It was beautiful in his mind, a dream he almost wished he didn't have to wake from. There was no blindness, both their visions perfectly clear, able to see one another wholly, count every bead of sweat. There was no pain, no sting of teeth as they grazed flesh, no fear of hurting the man beneath him as he gasped and writhed under warm hands, no need to worry about moving too quickly or not fast enough at all. It was passion and pleasure and comfort, the desperate need to simply be held, surrounded by the man he would willingly give his immortal life for, superceding the erotic. And it was in that flash of white light where everything is drowned out but the strangled cry that springs forth from bruised lips and the erratic pulse of a heart threatening to burst, that Watari realized he would never be just Watari anymore. His soul, his very essence was bonded to Tatsumi's, a pledge that according to Shinigami traditions ran deeper than anything ever conceived. No spoken vow or blood-bound ritual could compare to the breadth and depth of what they had promised to one another. 

"I will be yours and yours alone for the rest of forever," he whispered to Tatsumi, catching his mouth in a soft kiss. "I swear it on my immortal soul."

"And I on mine, Watari, and I on mine," he replied, stroking his lover's hair. "Yours for eternity."

++

            Notes: I got nothing to say. I might've made it more erotic if it wasn't going on ff.net…which still doesn't work from my home PC, the damn computer. I honestly don't know what's wrong with the stupid thing. Oh well, see you next time! 


	15. Lost

            This is another kinda transitional chapter, I guess, in which Watari's starting to crack. Poor baby. Is it a good thing or a bad thing the story's almost over? Tell me when you get to the end of the chapter, I'll meet you there. 

The days all blended together until no one could really tell how long Tatsumi had been "away." It might have been a week; it might have been six months. Watari continued living with Wakaba, the young girl bringing clothes and mail back to her little bungalow daily. She was taking superb care of him, never letting her charge sink down into the boggy miasma of depression, keeping him busy and well-fed, dispensing sleeping pills when necessary, and being an overall mother hen. And Watari didn't mind it a single bit, knowing full well that he probably would've gone insane with grief and loneliness if she hadn't taken him in. 

            The doctors came and went as they pleased, returning to their divisions when they were called, fresh medical personnel dropping in from other departments when necessary. Watari paid little attention to them; they were there mostly to keep the Enma-cho doctor from having to deal with the day-to-day medical business. Watari, meanwhile, had taken up residence in Tatsumi's office, carefully and diligently sifting through the paperwork that had begun to avalanche the desk. It was Watari who had taken the secretarial position in his lover's absence, filling out the necessary budget forms and finding that he was just as ruthless with the company's money as his partner. Tsuzuki had wept when he realized that Watari would not be caving and giving him extra dessert expenses, as he had originally surmised. 

            Konoe was surprised by his employee's actions and called Watari into his office not long after the weekly budget reports had been disseminated. The blonde was clad in a pair of neatly pressed khakis and a cornflower-blue dress shirt, his hair neatly and tightly braided. It was the most professional he'd ever seen his scientist, who generally opted for some combination of baggy sweater and rumpled black slacks over his skintight black bodysuit. 

            "Watari…I noticed you've been doing Tatsumi's paperwork the past couple of days."

He nodded. "Right."

            "How come?" the aged Shinigami inquired. 

            "That paperwork isn't going to do itself, obviously," he replied. "Besides, I don't want Tatsumi to have to worry about doing it when he wakes up. Knowing him, he'd try getting right out of bed and dock himself pay for missing all of that time."

            "That's Tatsumi all right."

Watari fidgeted uncomfortably. "Chief Konoe, Sir, I actually have a request to make regarding this situation. As Tatsumi's primary caregiver and physician, I'd like to tender an extended leave of absence due to mental health issues…for him. As for my needs, I'd like to be switched to part-time hours, per diem, even."

            "I'm not sure if I can give you your hours," Konoe responded, "but Tatsumi will definitely be granted a leave of absence. To be honest, Lord Enma insisted that he take a sabbatical when the Count and I met with him."

            "Lord Enma wants Tatsumi to take a leave of absence? He didn't want to try and ascend him or anything?" Watari asked skeptically.

            "Well…there was discussion of that. The Lord was aware that Tatsumi would be having psychological issues, potentially irrevocable issues. We talked about ascending him, and I met with him again yesterday to update him on Tatsumi's condition. Enma was leaning towards ascension, since Tatsumi has yet to wake up and it's been almost two weeks. But…I told him that it was up to you, seeing as how you _are _Tatsumi's doctor, partner…significant other. Don't give me that pointed look, Yutaka Watari, I'm not as clueless about these things as you think I am. It's your call whether Tatsumi stays or goes. Just know that if he doesn't wake up soon, Enma might insist that we send him on."

            "I understand. Thank you, Chief."

He smiled. "I have a good feeling we haven't heard the last of Seiichiro Tatsumi. He's too damn stubborn to kick off just yet. Besides, who would keep you and that knucklehead Tsuzuki from getting out of line? Neither of you listen to Kurosaki."

            "That's true."

            Watari left the office and walked over to the infirmary, sinking into the familiar metal folding chair at the bedside. There was no change in Tatsumi, though almost all of his injuries were totally healed. The yellowish mottle of bruising still remained in a few places and the wings Muraki had etched would never totally fade from his flesh. He closed his hand around thin fingers, the skin feeling cool to the touch, as if life had been stolen from it. 

            "Morning, Tatsumi," he said softly, stroking the back of his hand gingerly, one hand still curled around his lover's. "You've been in a coma for nearly two weeks, I guess. And I don't think I can take much more of this, Tatsumi. It hurts to live. Please, Tatsumi, I'm begging you, just wake up. I don't care how broken your mind is, I'll help you make it better. Just please wake up. I'll do anything you want me to."

            There was no response. Watari hadn't expected there to be. But he was getting tired; tired of fooling himself into believing that he was okay. He didn't want to have to be strong anymore. He just wanted Tatsumi back. It would have been one thing if Tatsumi had died, there would have been days of immeasurable grief, but he would've come to the realization that Tatsumi was somewhere better and they would be reunited someday. This was entirely different, his lover lost in shadows he'd created himself, unable to communicate to anyone except through vague dreams, isolated, frightened. There was no promise of a tender reunion as long as he lay sleeping in the hospital bed like an enchanted prince in some musty old fairytale. 

            "Please, Tatsumi. I love you…"

He pushed his glasses up to his hairline, resting just above his forehead, so he could let a few tears trickle down his face. He hadn't cried in the two weeks Tatsumi had been gone, and his throat was constantly burning with the pain of choking back those tears. Watari clenched his fingers tighter around Tatsumi's hand, his shoulders starting to shudder, sobs quivering in his breath. 

            "I just don't know what to do anymore. I can't help you, and I hate myself for not being able to help you. Tatsumi…I need you. I'm so lost without you," he laughed despite his tears. "Gods, I can't believe how clichéd I sound. Lost without you. Isn't it awful? And the worst part is, I mean all of it. I'm falling apart. Without Wakaba and the others to prop me up, I've got nothing. I feel so empty, and it's because you're not here to crack me over the head with a file folder and tell me to stop slacking…and you're not here to curl up on the couch with, hot chocolate on the coffee table and a Meifu downpour going on outside. I can't sleep at night without hearing you breathing beside me. Tatsumi, my whole world reoriented when you told me you loved me, and it's spinning out of alignment and I can't straighten it back out. I…I'm just…I'm lost, Tatsumi. I'm lost."

            Notes: Watari saves the day, files paperwork, and waxes poetic. And here you thought all he did was blow stuff up and experiment on people. How wrong you were! Ha! Okay, anyway, next chapter we're one step closer to the end, so I'll meet you there. Hope you're enjoying the fic!


	16. Where I Belong

            Another slightly longish chapter, and you're probably starting to wonder whether or not Tatsumi's going to wake up or remain a vegetable for the rest of his afterlife. I'll let you find that one out for yourself. See you after the chapter's done.

Tatsumi shivered, feeling physically and emotionally drained. There was no way to gauge time in his mindscape, and he felt as if he'd been walking forever, sifting through the wreckage of his mind. Slowly he'd been piecing everything back together, dredging up the little motes of memory that he could find and playing them like a movie on an old projector, the film black and white and grainy. Most of the memory shards were stuck together, the same monotony of day-to-day work, the usual quarrels over budgets and haranguing his coworkers. But it seemed that by reliving these memories, even just parts of them, he could recall the event fully. He knew the difference between every one of Watari's lab failure induced explosions and every puppy-eyed plea Tsuzuki made on his knees in front of his desk. Some of the memories he didn't even bother watching in full. Some of them he replayed more than once, freezing moments with crystalline clarity. The huge smile that lit up Tsuzuki's face when he found out they were going to Hokkaido for the company trip. The morning Wakaba was given the task of providing breakfast daily, the girl who'd died with aspirations of becoming a four-star chef. The first time he'd seen Hisoka smile. Saya and Yuma redecorating the break room. Terazuma teaching the rookies at martial arts. His first kiss with Watari…which was immediately followed up with the first time they'd made love. And every time he remembered, the air around him grew less dense, the space growing cleaner, brighter. The shrapnel underfoot dissipated. There were patches of grass.

            He'd sorted out his weaknesses too, the dark parts of his past, the things that haunted him at night and the memories he'd been forced to relive. The pain of his childhood, his mother's tears, always being hungry. He'd watched her die again, watched himself come home to see the slaughter, to devour his grandfather with shadows he didn't understand how to control. And as he stood there, lips pressed tightly together, Tatsumi admitted something he hadn't been able to say before.

            "It wasn't my fault. I didn't kill her. I failed to protect her, but I did all that I could for her and I loved her. I didn't kill my mother."

            He'd seen the night he'd left Tsuzuki, felt the old heartache sting. And he'd once more stood in Kyoto, staring in horror at the blazing inferno as it lapped at Tsuzuki's heels, the violet-eyed man empty and begging for his own death. He'd blamed himself for so much of Tsuzuki's pain, and hated himself for not letting him die as per his wishes, but Tatsumi knew he wasn't responsible. He couldn't have protected Tsuzuki from Tsuzuki. And his former lover had Hisoka to watch over him, reach him in a way Tatsumi never could, not understanding the suffering Tsuzuki experienced as his pain was of a different nature. Hisoka knew how Tsuzuki hurt and what to say, or what not to say, to rid that haunted look from his amethyst eyes. And Tsuzuki was happy, which was all Tatsumi had ever really wanted for him.

            There were old cases and old wounds, blood he'd spilt and tears he'd shed. Painful and messy cases where the line between right and wrong was undefined and nights he'd sat awake questioning his decision. Times when he'd lost control of his powers, times when he had no powers to speak of. Nights in the infirmary sitting over a bedside, holding vigil. The time Watari had nearly paralyzed himself tapping into the Meifu's Mother Computer. And Tatsumi remembered it all, frightened by his memories and still forced to remember them. There was no other choice. He had to do it if he ever wanted to wake from this nightmarish world.

            And then there was only one small patch of darkness left, a shade of black so utterly ominous Tatsumi hadn't dared to approach it before then. He took a steadying breath and walked towards it, fists clenched. He felt his body shift, as it usually did to fit his memories, taking on the physical form he'd been in at the time. It was his immortal body, the form he'd been in through most of his memories, only this one was bruised and bloody. He couldn't even tell what color shirt he was wearing from all the blood, the sleeves tattered, a tear running down from the shoulder seam to expose the scar on his collarbone. His lower lip felt split and there was a thick, rancid taste in his mouth. All around him rose the stench of decay as cold stone walls closed about him. And in the dark there was a beacon of spotless white, gazing back at him with soulless eyes, a cigarette still burning between pale, thin lips. Tatsumi let out a strangled cry.

            "No…"

The memory of his torture, of the long day and night Muraki had spent corrupting him, mind and body. A cold sweat broke out on his brow as the color bled from his face. Tatsumi couldn't breathe. He fell on his knees, gasping, choking, dry heaving. He couldn't face this memory.

            A hand clamped down on his shoulder, a firm but gentle pressure, and Tatsumi silently prayed that it was Watari come to comfort him. He looked up and saw the last person he ever expected to see. He'd only seen the man a few times, and from what he'd seen he'd been surprised to learn that he wasn't the hideous fanged ogre everyone made him out to be. Actually, he was rather attractive, with eyes of an indiscernible and ageless hue.

            "Lord Enma…" he breathed, rising to his feet so that he might bow low before the god and his chief employer. The king of Hades bowed in return, a smirking smile on his lips. He looked so young, but then again, he was a god and probably could look any way he so chose.

            "Mr. Tatsumi. You seem to be having difficulty with this memory, Mr. Tatsumi. I would have guessed that you wouldn't hesitate in confronting and banishing it, since it is now the only thing holding you to this place," the deity remarked.

            "I can't face it, Lord, not this one."

            "You confronted memories far worse than this one, the nightmares you've struggled against for decades. Why is this one more painful than any of those? Than even your mother's death?"

Tatsumi stared at the shadow of Muraki, who merely stood there, smoking his cigarette.

            "It was his fault…" he whispered.

Enma said nothing, not needing to. He simply stood there, waiting for Tatsumi to speak. He knew what was coming, it was inevitable. The big cathartic rush of emotions, the final confrontation. He'd seen a lot of Shinigami fall subject to mind games, hell, he'd coaxed Tsuzuki out of the web that damned devil had woven, and every time was the same. They always needed one push in the right direction to set them off.

            "It was his fault I'm here! I'm trapped in my own mind because of that man! I almost lost everything to him!" Tatsumi cried, fists clenched, tears beginning to roll down cheeks mottled with blood and dust. Enma resisted the urge to smirk in self-satisfaction. "He turned my own mind against me…he made me want to die. He…he threatened to kill everyone I care about. Except for…he…wanted to keep Watari separated from me, keep him from the afterlife. He promised to rape my lover, to torture him, to make him scream in agony and I would be helpless to stop him. That's why I won't see this memory again, Lord Enma. Because I don't ever want to hear him threaten Watari like that again. I couldn't protect my mother, I couldn't protect Tsuzuki, I want to protect Watari with everything I have. I won't let anyone hurt him. Never. I am _nothing_ without him." 

The lord of the dead nodded, waving a hand distractedly. The Muraki-shadow faded into motes of darkness, a small stream of sunlight illuminating the burnt-out cigarette butt on the ground where he'd been standing. Tatsumi stared at the cigarette butt, then up at Enma, his eyes wide with disbelief.

            "My Lord?"

            "I partially blame myself for your abduction, as you were apparently brooding over our meeting when it took place. Consider that your compensation for not being granted that promotion. Besides, Konoe's been telling me that your department is going to pieces without you and your lover is just about ready to tie a cement block around his ankles and go throw himself off the nearest pier," the deity replied.

Tatsumi smiled. "Thank you, Lord Enma. I am in your debt."

            "Don't say that, this was hardly much of anything. You're in Mr. Watari's debt for several millennia, I believe. You've been granted roughly three months' paid sabbatical leave; I suggest you use that time making it up to him. After all, you owe that young man your life."

            "I owe him far more than that," Tatsumi replied, raking his hand through his hair. "Lord Enma, may I inquire as to what you're doing in my mind?"

He smirked. "You've been in a coma for two-and-a-half weeks. I wanted to ascend you, but I couldn't do it without your partner's validation. So I thought I'd come in and assess the damage, see if you were a lost cause and then persuade Mr. Watari into letting you go. The damned scientist was so stubborn about keeping you in Meifu, I can see why."

            "Watari's headstrong all right. It's why I love him."

            "Yes, and if you want him to continue reciprocating that love, I suggest you wake up within the next five minutes before he snaps and sets all of Juo-cho on fire with an apocalyptic chemical explosion. I will see you in three months, Mr. Tatsumi. Enjoy your time off."

And with that, the Judge of the Dead himself disappeared without so much as a cloud of smoke or a sparkle of light to mark his exit. Tatsumi gazed out over the open field of his mind, contented with the calm orderliness of it all.

            "Now, to get back to where I belong…"

            Notes: I know Japanese tradition has Enma looking like a big scary shaggy guy with tusks and a bulbous nose, but considering how good-looking Koenma of _Yu-Yu Hakusho _is when he's a teenager (and that's his son!) I figured the Judge of the Dead probably isn't as hideous as everyone makes him out to be. I know the resolution was a little anticlimactic, but I was starting to get sick of the fanfic and wanted things resolved. Not to mention the fact that Enma couldn't just stand there and look cool. See you next chapter.


	17. Stay With Me

            This is the last official chapter of the fic, hard to believe, huh? However, because I believe in tying up loose ends and whatnot, there are two short epilogues following this chapter. So, enjoy this one, I'll see you in a few minutes, and we'll talk.

Saya and Yuma cautiously opened the door to the infirmary, barely leaning in. The room was dark, all of the various medical personnel from the other departments long since punched out for the evening. Saya glanced back over her shoulder, motioning down the hallway.

            "Wakaba! He's in here!" she hissed.

The three girls quietly tiptoed into the darkened room, standing just inside the door. Watari had, once again, fallen asleep in the chair beside Tatsumi's bed, his arms folded on the metal guardrail. Wakaba sighed sympathetically, walking over to him and gently shaking his shoulder.

            "Watari? Watari, wake up. It's time to go," she said softly.

He jerked up, knuckling the sleep from his eyes, faint tracks of dried tears on his cheeks. He untangled his hair from around his glasses, as they'd been shoved up to his forehead again, sliding them back down into place.

            "I'm sorry, Wakaba," he mumbled. "Have you been waiting long?"

She shook her head. "No, but I was a little worried about you. Nobody had seen you since before lunchtime, you've been in here since then, I think."

            "Have I? Oh. I guess I lost track of time."

Yuma picked up Watari's coat from the counter he'd thrown it on. "You're coming out for dinner and drinks with the three of us, okay? And don't even think about paying, because the whole thing's on us."

            "Sound okay?" Wakaba asked.

Watari shrugged. "Sure. Can you girls just give me a minute?"

They nodded and quietly left the room, standing in the hall just outside the door. Watari stood from his chair, stretching out stiff limbs, joints popping. He glanced down at Tatsumi, tugging the thin blanket higher up on him, brushing a few strands of hair away from his forehead.

            "I've got to go, the girls will be mad if I don't eat something. Good night, Tatsumi. I love you," the blonde whispered, kissing him gently. He turned away from the bed, his hand still on the guardrail. Thin, cold fingers brushed over the back of his hand, the bedclothes rustling with a cottony whisper.

            "…Tari…"

Watari jumped, his heart rocketing into his throat. He spun on his heel, chest heaving, eyes wild with frantic hope that he hadn't just imagined what he'd heard. A hand was still resting over his, the arm attached to it trailing all manner of intravenous tubing and dressed in white linen. Watari felt sobs heaving his ribcage, his throat constricting.

            "Tari…Watari…" a hoarse voice groaned out.

The young scientist leaned over the bed. Half-lidded and foggy blue eyes were trying to focus on his face; a faint and weak smile tugging at cracked lips.

            "…I'm home…"

            Watari burst into tears, hysterically sobbing as he wrenched the guardrail down and threw himself onto his lover, clutching him close as he wept. The girls burst into the room, jamming the lights on as the door ricocheted off the wall, banging and clattering as it arched wildly on its hinges.

            "Tatsumi! Oh gods, oh gods, Tatsumi…I…I…"

The three Shinigami all glanced at one another fearfully, afraid that somehow in the few minutes they'd left them, Tatsumi had been whisked away into the afterlife without so much as a parting word. But a soft voice, broken with disuse and suffused with tears, was just barely audible over Watari's uncontrolled sobs.

            "I'm okay, Watari…don't cry."

Saya and Yuma squealed and together they ran down the hallway to grab anyone still in the building and get everyone else that'd left back immediately. Wakaba leaned against the threshold, quietly crying.

            Tatsumi gingerly put his arms around Watari. "Help me up?"

He nodded, carefully pulling the older man up, still holding tightly to him. Tatsumi rested his head on Watari's shoulder, feeling miserably weak, too weak even to cry. It was all right, though, the blonde was crying enough for the both of them. Tatsumi wound a golden curl around his finger, tugging on it slightly.

            "You're fogging your glasses, you damned overemotional scientist," he stated.

Watari laughed despite his tears. "Fuck you."

            "Please don't," Tatsumi groaned into his lover's skin. "Too tired for that."

Tsuzuki skidded into the room with Hisoka and the rest of the department hot on his heels. Even Terazuma made an appearance as everyone clamored to get into the tiny infirmary, bottlenecking in the small doorway. The violet-eyed man shoved Watari aside and threw his arms around Tatsumi's neck.

            "You're all right! We've been so worried about you!" he cried.

            "We?" Tatsumi asked.

Gushoshin the Elder hovered over. "Everybody in Juo-cho knows what happened, and they've been real helpful these past couple of weeks. This place pretty much fell apart without you."

            "Yeah, Mr. Watari ended up doing your paperwork for you it got so backed up," his brother added.

Konoe snorted. "So don't go doing a foolish thing like getting yourself abducted again, you hear me, Tatsumi? All right, he's awake, no dramatic damage. The show's over, everybody clear out, man's only been awake five minutes."

            "I think he's glad you're back," Tsuzuki whispered.

Hisoka came and sat down on the edge of the bed with his partner after everyone else had shuffled out, leaving Tatsumi with their felicitations and heartfelt welcomes back into the world of the living…so to speak. The young Shinigami smiled slightly, nodding at the blue-eyed man.

            "Tatsumi."

            "Hisoka."

            "Nothing I say hasn't already been said, but I'll tell you one thing. That," he pointed to Watari, "is going to be insufferable to live with. He went after you on his own, wouldn't let me or Tsuzuki or anyone else help him. And, strange to say, he managed to hold his ground against Muraki…broke his nose, apparently."

            "He tried to make off with your cuff links, the dirty son-of-a-bitch," Watari retorted.

Tsuzuki nuzzled Tatsumi. "Glad you're okay."

            "Thanks, Tsuzuki."

            "Come on, idiot, let's go home," Hisoka commanded.

The dark-haired Shinigami pouted, puppy ears drooping. "Aw, Hisoka, I wanna stay with Tatsumi!"

            "Tsuzuki, don't you think Watari and Tatsumi want to be _alone_?"

Tsuzuki's eyes widened and he backed away from his companions, gaping as the blue-eyed man snuggled into his lover's arms. In the decades of knowing each other, Tsuzuki had never known Tatsumi to _ever _snuggle anyone for any sort of reason. He grabbed Hisoka's thin wrist and started pulling him towards the door.

            "Right. I'll call you later, Watari. And I'll let Wakaba know to bring your stuff back over to your apartment at some point this week. Oh, and I'll tell Konoe you're taking the rest of the week off since you probably should so you can stay with Tatsumi. Oh! And I'm glad to have you back, Tatsumi, Shokan-ka just isn't Shokan-ka without you."

            "You're babbling," Hisoka pointed out. "Good night, both of you. We'll see you later, Tatsumi. And if you even _think _about setting foot in this building before Monday, Watari, I'll use you as a punching bag for a month."

            "Good night, Bon, Tsuzuki."

            The door clicked shut, and soon there was no sound in the ward but the steady rattle and hum of the various machines connected to the weary secretary and the ragged breaths of the still distraught scientist. Watari was tenderly running his fingers through his lover's russet hair, humming a little despite the hiccupping sobs that still shook his thin frame. Tatsumi mumbled something into his shoulder.

            "What's that, love?" Watari asked.

            "I'm sorry…I made you worry so much. Forgive me, Watari?"

He smiled, embracing him tighter. "Always. I'm sorry I let that happen to you, Tatsumi. I'll never let you get hurt again, I promise. I'll protect you with my very soul. I love you, Seiichiro Tatsumi."

            "Love you, Yutaka Watari."

They sat there on the ward bed for a while, twined in each other's arms, content to feel the warmth of one another's skin on their own, to hear every breath and heartbeat. Watari kept dragging one pale hand through Tatsumi's hair, still shuddering every once and again. He'd get up soon enough and snap on a pair of latex gloves, disconnect all the machines and pull Tatsumi from the tangle of tubes and wires. But for now, he just wanted to hold fast to the man, feel his solid body wrapped around his own.

             "Are you all right, Tatsumi?"

He glanced up, searching weary amber eyes for meaning. He understood everything that wasn't said so much better than the words themselves.

            "I don't know."

            "Can I do anything?" Watari murmured softly, his long fingers stroking the back of his neck, the vertebrae he could feel just under the skin.

Tatsumi sighed. "Just…just stay with me, Watari."

            The younger man shoved his cascade of soft golden hair away from his face, tilting his lover's chin up so he could kiss him. Tatsumi took a sharp breath at the contact, returning the kiss with as much passion as he could muster, though his body felt boneless, a rag doll whose sawdust stuffing had spilt from gapes in seams and poured through the cracks in the floorboards.

            "Stay with me."

            Notes: I think I can hear all of you fangirlishly squealing from the sappiness of the end of the chapter. I know I was, and I wrote the damned thing. So, epilogues coming at you, and that will be it for this project. Huzzah. See you next chapter.


	18. First Epilogue: Nothing Left

            This is the first epilogue. It's very short, but so what? It's not about Tatsumi and Watari, so it can be pretty damned short. See you in like five seconds.

Oriya exhaled a plume of smoke, sitting on the back porch of the brothel, watching the sun warm the sand in the rock garden to a rosy gold as it climbed its way towards the peak of the sky. He didn't turn his head upon hearing the swish of fabric beside him, or the sound of a lighter being clicked. Wisps of smoke, not from his lips, floated in the dewy morning air.

            "I didn't think someone with cracked ribs should be smoking," he remarked.

Muraki made a noncommittal noise, cigarette poised between two bandaged fingers. Oriya smiled almost imperceptibly, thinking about the pip of plaster on the doctor's nose, marring his perfect face. It served him right, though, doing something so foolhardy.

            "Did I, or did I not, tell you it was a bad idea, Kazutaka?"

            "On the contrary, Oriya, I found it most educational," Muraki replied genteelly.

The longhaired swordsman chuckled. "That blonde with the glasses ripped you a new one and it caught you off guard, you mean to say."

            Muraki said nothing in response, brooding. The physical pain was nothing; he would be fine in a few more days. But that obnoxious little blonde had left far deeper scars, insinuating that he, Kazutaka Muraki, was the same as the victims he'd carved up with such indifference. That he was "another Saki." The idea of having any similarity to that disgusting creature he had the misfortune of calling a half-brother was vile. It made his skin crawl. He was no Saki.

            "You're not going to give up on them, are you? You'll try something again one of these days, and the same thing will happen. This last time just proves that you can't win, Kazutaka. Those Shinigami, they aren't going to let you. You can't threaten them; they don't take threats lightly, as you've obviously found out."

            Muraki took a slow, methodical drag of his cigarette, the ash glowing. "Those Shinigami, Oriya, are my white whale. As long as I exist, I shall never cease to cause them suffering, in retribution for the suffering they constantly cause me."

            "Yeah, but don't you think they already suffer enough as it is? They have to watch people die every day. They've got the same emotional baggage as you, more so, I'd say."

            "We're not the same," Muraki snapped.

The chestnut-haired man nodded. "No, you're not. They, despite all of their hang-ups, are still human. They love one another, do they not? You, I'm not so sure about."

            "No, Oriya, I'm not human," the pale doctor agreed. "I'm that nightmare that lurks in the shadows, waiting until you're lulled into a false sense of security to grab you. To drag you down to where no one can save you and bleed all of your hopes from you. I will twist your heart and blacken it with so much poison, rape you raw and break you again and again. Until there is nothing left."

Oriya shuddered, knowing that Muraki was smiling as he spoke. He was mad, the doctor, but then again, he himself was equally as mad for standing by him all these years. But perhaps it was because that man had, true to his word, dragged him down and poisoned him until he was purely a pretty shell filled with blind conviction and unrequited love.

"Until there is nothing left…"

            Notes: See, I told you I was cleaning up loose ends. There's your Muraki bit. I couldn't just leave him lying facedown on some hill somewhere. So I put him back at Oriya's place. Originally I intended to end the fic here, with Muraki back with Oriya so things came full-circle, but I felt that since this is a Tatsumi and Watari story, it should end with them. So it does. See you next, and last, chapter.


	19. Second Epilogue: Until the End of Eterni...

            The very last chapter of _In Umbra, _I feel so proud of myself! I think this is the longest fic I've finished all the way, and I hope you enjoyed every minute of the oozing angst and everything else that wasn't angst. Now, on with the story.

Once he'd been well enough to do so, Tatsumi protested his sabbatical leave, declaring himself well enough to go back to work. It had only been a week, and Watari wasn't fooled at all. That, Tatsumi decided, was the downfall of having your physician and psychologist as your lover. But he wasn't going to argue with the blonde, that was partially what got him in such a predicament in the first place. Watari promised him that his paperwork was getting done and there was nothing for him to worry about but making sure he was "all right." The blonde guaranteed that it would take the three months before Tatsumi was really all right, as he'd yet to sleep all the way through a night, still waking with a strangled cry, a plea for Muraki to not touch him, to keep his hands away.

            Watari had been granted his request for part time, working three full days and one half-day a week, mostly doing Tatsumi's deskwork. The other partners had picked up their district for the time being, and though he'd gotten a few grumbles from Terazuma and the usual half-joking whines from Tsuzuki, nobody really seemed to mind, especially not when they stopped to think about why they were trampling through Osaka chasing down some vagrant spirit. Because their good friend and coworker had been brutalized and couldn't handle being around death, or blood, or the victims of rape. Because his lover was trying to keep him away from such pain until he thought the wounds were healed enough. Sometimes Watari wondered if they ever would heal, and if Tatsumi was really all right or merely putting on a brave face for him.

            Coming home one evening he found Tatsumi sitting out on the fire escape, 003 perched on his shoulder, the two of them merely staring out over Meifu. The little owl had become Tatsumi's sworn protector since first being admitted to the infirmary, spending almost more time with him than she did with Watari. The scientist knew the real reason she stayed home with Tatsumi, that he was slipping her Twinkies, even though she was supposed to be dieting. Owls, Watari had stated, were not supposed to be roly-poly.

            "What're you doing?" he asked, climbing out the window onto the rickety iron structure, leaning against the railing. Tatsumi shrugged.

            "Thinking, I suppose."

The blonde nodded, taking the tie from his hair and shaking the curls from their braided confines. His hand closed over the one Tatsumi was resting on the railing, a small sigh issuing from the brunette's lips.

            "What about?" Watari inquired gently, glancing at him.

            "Us…" he answered. "Muraki knows you're my weakness, he's going to exploit that."

Watari smirked. "I'm your weakness? I thought the crisp sound of cold, hard cash being shuffled was your Achilles' heel, my calculative companion."

            "Does money wake out of a sound sleep to make me a cup of herbal tea at three in the morning after I've had a night terror? Or willingly fill out paperwork not even Konoe will touch?"

            "Point taken," he replied grudgingly.

Tatsumi looked at him gravely, his deep cobalt eyes still shrouded with a dark fear. "He'll use one of us to hurt the other…Watari…"

            "I won't let it happen," the blonde promised. "He won't touch us, either of us."

            "…I hate feeling like this, Watari. Being so frightened…we haven't…we can't…I…" he stammered, too shamed to articulate his emotions. Watari smiled sympathetically, putting an arm around his lover's waist.

            "It's going to be all right, don't worry about it. I can practice abstinence for a couple of weeks, months, however long it's going to take for you to regain your confidence. I know you hate this, Tatsumi, and I'm sorry you have to feel this way. But I'm not going to abandon you. I love you."

            "I know…"

Tatsumi shifted, mindful of the fire escape's poor construction, facing Watari. Those clear amber eyes never once lied to him, and right now they were as bright and hopeful as ever. It was moments like these that reminded him why he'd fallen in love with the crazy blonde in the first place. He was always so open, full of life and passionate about even the smallest things. The bright shaft of sunlight piercing darkness, sending shadows skittering away. Never accepting defeat, stubborn to a fault. And the most understanding person he'd ever known.

            He tipped up Watari's chin and kissed the young man hesitantly, mindful of the owl still perched on his shoulder as he wrapped trembling arms around him.

            "Tatsumi?"

              "I would have died if it hadn't been for you. I owe you my life, Watari, my immortal soul. I wish I could do something to repay you…for saving me when I almost didn't want to be saved."

Watari embraced him, 003 moving out of the way lest she be crushed. "You don't owe me anything. You're alive, that's all I really care about. As for repaying me…well, I believe your cooking supper tonight would suffice. I don't want anything from you, Tatsumi. Just you."

            "Thank you, Watari."

            "For what?"

Tatsumi smiled. "Dying…coming here…saving my life on numerous occasions…falling in love with me…being my weakness."

            "You mean the world to me, Tatsumi," Watari replied. "I'd be your weakness any time."

            They stood on the fire escape for a long time, safe in each other's arms, watching the sakura bluster through the breezy air. And though they would never be the same again, they had one another to fall back on, to hold fast to and dispel the darkness that threatened to swallow them whole. And while they could not live happily ever after, they lived, and lived together, until the end of eternity.

_The End_


End file.
